


Hapless Queer Avengers Meet Their Doom and Loki

by bluestalking, feverbeats



Series: Hapless Queer Avengers [2]
Category: Avengers (Comic), Marvel, Thor (2011), Thor (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, F/F, Genderqueer Character, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, M/M, Multi, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestalking/pseuds/bluestalking, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," Tony says casually, "you're saying he'll be rude to us?"</p><p>"To be fair," Bruce says, "he's really good at rude."</p><p> </p><p>  <i>In which Thor is distressed about family, Loki and Doom are snappish and proud, the Avengers gossip, Bucky Barnes is a Winter Soldier, and most people get laid, except Hank Pym, who would really just like to know what's going on.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. loki lives on apples in latveria

**Author's Note:**

> WHAT HAPPENED IN PART ONE:
> 
> Thor has some problematic sex with the Hulk - Bruce Banner and Hulk are not the same person - Thor woos Bruce and Hulk by learning to tell the difference - Tony and Bruce find each other nervewracking - Tony and Bruce are thematically similar - Tony and Bruce learn to be friends - Iron Man is trans - Bruce doesn't care - Steve is from the 40s - Steve doesn't know what transgender means but he reacts to it pretty badly - Natasha Romanov helps them past this hurdle - Loki pays a visit to the New York Public Library - Bruce has doubts and a Jotun burn - Thor and Bruce have a poorly timed fight - Sif comes from Asgard to patch them up - Where is Loki?
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: perfectly healthy pornography, transphobia, internalized homophobia, past abuse, possible alcohol abuse, past rape as a major plot point, PTSD and other mental health issues. We promise some nice things happen too!
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: references to past rape, Loki being crazy

Loki is lounging around Doom's castle eating apples and pretending with aggressive nonchalance that she hasn't left in ages and is horrifically bored.

Doom, watching his security cameras carefully, knows that Loki has been somewhere _not in the castle_ for a while today, but he doesn't know where. Every time Loki goes out, Doom finds himself distracted from his work by wondering if he's going to have bigger concerns soon.

Shoving his latest pet protect away in annoyance, he checks the cameras again and goes to find Loki. He finds her on a parapet, looking cheerful about the cold if not about anything else.

"Oh, Victor, it's you," she greets him sweetly.

He raises his eyebrows, his expression not evident behind the mask. "And it's _you._ You're looking...delicate." He hasn't yet predicted why Loki changes, but it happens from time to time.

Loki's shoulders twitch in annoyance, like a horse jarring loose a fly. "You can mean nothing by that which is inoffensive. Did you come up here for fresh air or for someone to vent your frustrations upon over another failed _project?"_

"Let me guess," Doom says, "you've alienated someone else and now you're trying to alienate me. Do you want to be put out on the streets?" Loki could just be being nasty, but she seems more explicitly on edge than usual.

"What streets?" Loki purrs. "Your poor country hasn't seen enough civilization to know the word. A goat path is all they can manage, I am sure, before their poor peasant minds are overwhelmed."

Doom waves a hand. "If you expect me to get defensive over my peasants, you're barking up the wrong tree. Where have you _been?"_

Loki says shortly, "Here. Eating apples. Obviously." She waves her hand at the small pile of cores that has formed on the stone, which should be a dismissive gesture, but it cuts off at corners instead of curves, and she is too tense to be credible.

"Your lies are useless. I've seen you on the cameras. I know you left." Doom crosses his arms, attempting to tower over her menacingly. She's still quite tall, though, and he's not sure he wants to menace her in this mood.

She glances at him scornfully. "For all you know I was here and you couldn't see me. Your technology _isn't_ the best in this world, Victor, and even _that_ couldn't be trusted to know where I am and am not."

He shrugs off the insult. His is the best _man-made_ technology in the world, he is certain. "Then clearly my castle upset you enough that you felt the need to eat an entire bushel of apples."

Loki looks down at the corpses of her victims. "If you must know, I was in New York." She looks up and sneers. " _Sightseeing."_

 _New York._ Doom thinks he knows what that means. "Thor?" he asks.

"Why would I?" Loki snaps.

Doom can easily imagine a dozen reasons. "Perhaps you wanted to kill him," he lies. It might placate her to think her facade works.

"Perhaps I still want to kill him," she shoots back. "But I wasn't there to see my _brother."_

Doom can't imagine many other social obligations that would take Loki to New York. Part of a plan, then? A horribly failed one, clearly.

"Did you run into anyone you strongly disliked?" he asks, glad he can hide his smile. She's easily angered.

"Whom do I not strongly dislike, Victor?" she asks scathingly.

Doom shrugs. "Myself, I would hope. Beyond that, who can say?" As to Loki's true feelings about Thor, Doom is not about to hazard a guess at the moment.

Loki turns shortly to stare out over the parapet. "Every creature I meet in every realm I visit makes a mockery of consciousness." She doesn't turn around, but adds viciously, "Especially the ones like you, _Doctor._ Clever and self-assured and doing _nothing._ You are flyspecks, and you think you are gods."

Doom never likes hearing these things, but he also knows they're not true. And yet..."You _will_ mind your tongue if you intend to stay here," he snaps, grabbing her elbow.

He barely has the words out when Loki's elbow snaps back jarringly against the armor covering his throat. She spins them around and slams him against the parapet. She leans in, eyes like cold green fire, and hisses, "You will not touch me, Victor Von Doom, unless I have invited it."

It...does not anger Doom as much as he would like.

"If you intend that as a serious rule, I will abide by it," he says stiffly. His shoulders ache.

Loki eases off slightly, but she remains tense, and her face is wary. "Why do you want to know where I've been, Victor? Just your boyish curiosity?"

"Perhaps I'm jealous." He's allowed to say that, he decides, because it will sound like a lie.

Loki lets go and backs away abruptly. "Afraid I'll find another freak of a mortal scientist who keeps me better occupied?" She spreads the last word out slowly, eyes narrow and watchful.

"We're a rare breed," Doom says through gritted teeth. They're not, really. Loki probably has dozens of them at her disposal. But that doesn't tell him where she's been _today._

"You're underfoot like rats," she retorts.

Doom will not be made to feel low. He reaches for Loki to hurt her, then pulls his hand back abruptly, remembering how she reacted last time. He's immediately disgusted with himself.

The hint of victorious smirk on Loki's mouth vanishes. She says, "It was only Bruce Banner. He is even less satisfying than you."

She does not know why _satisfying_ is the first word that comes to mind, or why it strikes her as so...accurate.

Doom nods, unfairly relieved. "Oh, Banner. Yes, more of a failure than most." He clears his throat. "What did you want to see _him_ for?"

"I don't know," Loki says crossly. She feels shaken now that her anger has somehow bisected itself. "Apparently he has something an Asgardian can find interesting. A stupid Asgardian, leastways."

She has the uncomfortable feeling, despite what her words imply, that she understands at least part of what makes Thor so enamored of him. It makes her feel ill to think about, though, so she doesn't. She just hides up here and rages until Doom upsets her solitude.

Doom thinks, _So, it is jealousy, then._ He doesn't say so, though. It would be too obvious a blow.

"You waste your time on things like that when you could be here, getting real work done?" he asks. "You could aid in my experiments. I doubt yours yield results as compelling." Clearly, from her mood, they barely yield results at all.

Loki stares at him in silence. At first she thinks she will say something else, but she doesn't. She only looks at him until the silence becomes...recognizably present.

Doom allows the silence to stretch uncomfortably, but not for long. He has very little patience. "Why don't you come inside?" he snaps. "The cold may not bother you, but even with my armor, I can feel the chill."

Loki half-shakes her head, not to say no, but to revive her thoughts. "Yes, if you like," she says. There's no bite to it. She waits for Doom to move.

Doom nods and turns to go without waiting to see if she'll follow. He knows she will. When they're inside, he shifts in frustration as his joints creak. It's not all the armor.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" he asks.

Loki starts. "Oh," she says. "Very little. I menaced my brother's lover and said many horrible things, and he--he wouldn't change. Into the monster, you know." Her words falter, near the end. It makes rage flare up in her again, for a moment, at her own weakness and failure (it is _shameful_ that she of all people could not break even a mortal like that with her words), but the rage snuffs itself out almost instantly. She hunches in slightly, unable to stop herself.

Loki's plans, Doom has noticed, are sometimes a little lacking. Specifically, they lack _plan._ Or at least a second half.

"You must have said the wrong things," he says, because he can't stop himself. If she doesn't stop looking like that soon, he's going to become concerned and try to be helpful and fail. It will be embarrassing.

"I didn't," Loki says, horrified that she is admitting it and _doing so anyway_ , what is _happening to her?_ "I said exactly the right things. They hurt him. I hurt him. Oh," she says bitterly, "he bleeds when someone digs a knife into his vulnerable points, but he doesn't let them take him apart." Her voice sinks into a growl, shaking and angry.

"Unlike you," Victor says, swift and clipped. He touches her shoulder, gently this time. That might be worse. He's never certain, but his scientist's curiosity drives him to find out.

Loki won't meet his eyes. She stands straightbacked, unresponsive to his touch, scrutinizing the floor as though she could bore holes in it with a look.

"You can try again," he says, his voice low, his hand still on her. "Alter the formula, change the angle of attack. It's how these things work. Just because you didn't make him change this time..."

Loki comes back to life in a flash of fury. "For what purpose?" she shrieks into his face. "To point out that I failed once already? To prove that hurting my brother _matters to me?_ What is the point, Victor, unless it is to look more pathetic than Thor and his precious Avengers already think that I am?"

"I had thought," Doom says evenly, "that that didn't matter to you. If it does, you shouldn't have gone at all." He won't coddle her.

"Well, Victor," she says, cheerful and choked, "I thank you for your advice. In the future, when I wish to hurt someone, I shall be sure not to do so, for the best _possible_ effect."

"Well, _yes,"_ Doom says. Clearly she isn't going to listen to him, and their methods differ wildly, but it's true. "If you ignore your enemies and simply become noticeably better than they are, you'll find victory much less painful."

"I can't do that," she snaps, far too honestly. "I am not made of metal, as you pretend to be, as convenient as I am sure you find it."

"You're made of feelings," Doom sighs. "Inconvenient that you can't conceal them. Are you _all right?"_ He adds this last abruptly, as if he thinks she won't notice it.

"Of course not!" she retorts. "I am haunted by Thor and his new-found _benevolence,_ worse than Balder’s, and the weakest point in his armor is still _stronger than I am!"_ She is white and perspiring, and though she is less likely to cry in this form, her eyes burn.

She is already shamed. There is no reason to spare herself with Doom.

"Loki," Doom says roughly. Words of comfort will make him vulnerable and her furious, so he simply pulls her to him roughly. He doesn't want to see her face anymore. She looks terrible.

Loki is rigid and panting and trembling. "Why?" she says. "Why, why, what do you want? Stop."

"I would like for you to calm down," Doom says. He doesn't let go.

Loki says, in an awful, keening voice, "When am I calm? When have I ever been calm? When is that not a lie, you stupid, conceited, arrogant _mortal?_ Why can you not ask for _something I can give?"_

Doom laughs. "I'm not asking. I'm not. Do you understand that, Loki? I'm not asking you for anything." It's important to clarify. Very, he thinks.

_"Then why am I here?"_

Loki shrieks into his cloak, her eyes shut, her fists knotted at his shoulders. She is useless. Even he is saying that she is useless.

"Loki, Loki, shh," he says, stroking her back. "You're here because I enjoy your company, you fool."

This situation is...alarming. For many reasons.

She looks up, furious, but perhaps not furious so much as afraid and angry at it.

"I don't believe you," she says flatly.

He looks her in the eye, realizing too late that it isn't effective with the mask on. No matter.

"I also value your power and what you can do for me," he says, wondering if she is even capable of recognizing honesty.

"It would seem," she says bitterly, "that my power amounts to very little. You had better find something better, Victor. Bruce Banner, for example."

"Ugh," Victor says, again honestly. "I can think of nothing I would like to possess less. I am not your brother. I have better taste." He puts his hand on her hip lightly, to drive the point home.

Loki's breath catches. "Do you possess _me,_ Victor?" she asks. She does not know what she is driving towards, or what answer she wants. She does not expect any answer to be the right one.

"I'm finding out," he snaps, tightening his grip. "If I can't possess you, I can do other things." He doubts it's soothing. He doesn't care.

" _Other things,"_ Loki says mockingly. "What can you do to a god, Victor?"

He snorts. "I can hardly reveal my entire plan to you before it's complete. My machine isn't done. I don't want to go off half-cocked."

He doesn't think, at this point, that there is any winning with her.

"I didn't know you could go off cocked at all," Loki snarls, pulling away.

"If you wish to test me," Doom starts, but it's the wrong time. If he touches her, she'll _shatter_ in distress. He can feel it.

"You'll what? Give me pleasure? Or _rape_ me?" She hardly knows what she is saying now, but she cannot stop spitting out venom. "Don't bother to prove your manhood, Victor, you'll only be the last in a line. And I never learned anything of value from _them."_

"Don't," he says, sounding more shocked than he means to. He isn't shocked, but he _wouldn't_ \--He wouldn't. That's important.

"Give you pleasure, if you'll allow me to," he says softly, angry because he's unsure how to proceed. She is not anything he can predict or control. "I would never force you. I just want you to _slow down."_

Loki stares at him, numb and full. Her entire being feels like one long scream. _Slow down,_ he says, and she feels herself come skidding to a painful, jarring, blessed stop. She supposes that is what shakes her tears loose.

Doom says nothing, nothing condescending or painful or accidentally incorrect. He just pauses, shaking out the folds of his cloak and waiting to see if she wants to be touched.

"Victor," Loki says, but her voice breaks, and there is nothing else to say. She cannot move. One hand squeezes itself into a fist for the length of a second, but then it falls limply back to her side.

Doom will wait until given permission to touch, but he won't wait long, not when Loki can't speak to give permission. He steps forward and wraps his arms around her, wishing he could bury his face in her hair. "Shh," he says again. "It's all right. It will be."

There is no such thing. Loki knows there is no such thing. She brings her hands up to hide her face and tries to be quiet, and not to shake too much, but she is certain that Victor can feel her weeping.

It is worse, she knows, because Thor will never give her satisfaction, no matter what he does. There is such thing. There is no satisfaction left to give.

Doom strokes her back, unable to say anything that will fix it. She's too old and too angry and too _sad_ for his words to change anything, so he won't try just to fail. She might need to lower her expectations, he thinks.

"Just breathe," he says. She can at least manage that, surely.

Loki is surprised at herself when she laughs. "You are suspect," she breathes. "I suspect you of being a better man than you make of yourself." She shudders and leans her weight against Doom's idiotic armor.

"I make myself ill," she says, and depends on her slightly unusual diction to, maybe, throw Doom off, so that he thinks she means with crying, and not with everything she does.

Doom ignores the insult to his person and hugs Loki more tightly.

"You do," he says. "You go out of your way to do so. I suggest you stop. I won't have you coming home to me like this on a regular basis. It might make me annoyed with the Avengers."

Loki goes still. Eventually she says, "Home to you?"

"You appear to have installed yourself here," Doom says lightly, as though it's obvious. He has no idea how Loki feels about it, but he's growing used to her. At least she seems to have mostly stopped crying.

"I," she says. "I could go. If you wanted me to." She doesn't know where. She's sure to be able to tuck herself in some corner of some realm or another.

"Don't think less of me if I request that you don't," he says.

"Is this," Loki says haltingly, "am I home?"

"You are," Doom says firmly. Not a question. No lack of certainty.

"Victor," Loki says again, and she thinks she might start to weep again as well. What he's saying is terrifying, it's exposing and unfamiliar and too affectionate.

She hasn't had a home since she found out what she was.

"Don't thank me," Victor says, meaning it. It would probably snap her in half right now. "Just...hush. Surely you can manage that."

"Hush!" Loki repeats, laughingly, and she can almost--

"I need to change," she says suddenly. "I--please, wait." She pulls away and whisks herself into the next room.

When the door opens again, Loki is himself. His eyes are still damp, but he is smiling and tidy and no longer shaking.

"I hope that invitation was open to each of me," he says.

"I could hardly pick and choose only a few of your faces," Doom says, practically weak with relief. _Oh, this is a dangerous game,_ he scolds himself, glad again of the mask. But she was so miserable; what else was he to do?

Loki, although he does not fully realize it, is worse at hiding in this face than he is in the others. The tension (most of the tension) simply falls out of him. He says, "You know, Victor, I _could_ help you with your experiments. Even now, I could." He smiles slightly, hopefully. He is waiting, a little, for Doom to get it wrong.

"Pet," Doom says deliberately, "I am not so much of a fool."

It's the first time someone has ever made Loki feel small in a way that also feels...safe.

He laughs. "You are the embodiment of fools," he says. "But I am grateful for your foolishness."


	2. natasha has no fun on adventures with clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha sometimes can't believe Clint. He's like a baby bird that's somehow wandered into traffic and is unaware of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Clint is not tactful about queer issues.

Clint corners Natasha by sitting down with her at lunch and starting to talk before she can look at him scornfully, get up, and go.

"Hey!" he says. "It is sure great to still have someone to sit with, here in good old Avengers Tower, who isn't screwing or trying to screw anyone else on the team! How are you!"

Natasha always wonders if Clint is secretly younger than his paperwork suggests. He seems to have too much energy and too little maturity for the numbers to possibly be correct. She glares at him, but without any real venom.

"I was eating my lunch," she says pointedly. "What do you want?"

"Oh, me, nothing," Clint says. "Just the pleasure of your company. Someone to while away the half-hour with. It's not like there is _any gossip or anything_ to talk about, is there? None. This organization is as socially dead as a...dead. Social...thing." Clint sucks at metaphors, he should remember that before he starts them. He smiles. He's hoping this is what winning smiles look like.

Natasha looks at him flatly. "If this is not about me, I have no interest. If it _is_ about me..." She intensifies the glare. She must admit she's a little curious about which piece of gossip he's picked up on. Hank is coming in first, so far, in the race to be the most oblivious Avenger. Which is good. Natasha was rooting for Clint to be at least slightly more observant than him.

Clint plants his hands against the table and leans in. "Okay, but Thor and Banner weren't at the meeting," he hisses, "and I thought I heard Cap saying something to Stark that--okay, and does he even _realize_ how stupid it is to hang out with that guy outside hours if he want to keep his poster-boy virtue? I swear I haven't seen anyone come on to anyone else as hard as Stark comes on to Cap in my _life_. At this rate the whole damn team will be debauched by proxy."

Natasha raises her eyebrows. "What makes you think it's not too late?" Their business is their own, except that they've made it hers. Besides, she enjoys teasing Clint. It's very easy. He's very excitable.

"Noooooo," Clint says, round-eyed. " _No way_ is Cap _gay."_ He cocks his head. "Unless he just in it for the--you think he knows what bits Stark's got under there? _I_ wouldn't have guessed, that's for sure. Stark must've spent a fortune to play dress-up that good. Not that he can't afford to look like whatever the hell he wants."

Natasha _tsks_ under her breath. "This is why we don't let you speak to the media," she says. There is literally no one on the team who _should_ be allowed to speak to the media, actually. "I certainly hope you do not speak like this to Tony." The last thing they need is to handle that crisis. The last thing _she_ needs.

"Huh?" Clint says. He expects Natasha to sound a little grouchy, that's just how she is, but, seriously, _rude._ "Everyone _knows,"_ he says. "It was in like, every paper. For like five years."

Natasha cannot imagine why that would be news for even _one_ year.

"Everyone knows, but not everyone discusses it. Some would consider it personal." She shrugs. "He is, of course, not in the habit of making his private life private. But I take it he is somewhat...sensitive to this issue. For some reason." She gives Clint a withering look and takes a sip of her water.

"Eh," Clint shrugs, "he was born a celebrity! If he was really so worried about the media he should have stayed a girl, right?" He bites a stick of celery in half and chews congenially.

Natasha sometimes can't believe Clint. He's like a baby bird that's somehow wandered into traffic and is unaware of it.

"I gather that would have been somewhat distressing," she says. "I wonder if you can imagine what discomfort with oneself is? You might want to try. Many of your teammates experience it." Most of them, actually.

Clint shrugs, a little put off. "I'm not saying it's wrong he _did_ it," he says. He snaps a carrot in half between his teeth for lack of anything better to do. But--"OH!" he says, mouth full, "But, so, does that mean Cap _does_ know? Does that make him gay or straight, I don't even _know."_

Natasha sighs. Clint's enthusiasm is hard to find offensive. Then again, she doesn't find many things offensive, only irritating. She's a little jarred by Clint's cheerfulness in contrast with how _destroyed_ Tony and Steve were, though.

"If he does have an interest in Tony," she says carefully, "I imagine he's gay. Then again, I hear some people are bisexual." _Probably not Steve,_ she adds privately.

"I'm not totally convinced that's even a thing," Clint says, "but whatever. But, wow, Cap, gay. Who'd've thought. America clearly needs to get some perspective on right and wrong, huh? Because gay people! Apparently they can also fight crime! Speaking of which, seriously, where are Thor and Banner?"

She's about to brush him off, but then she stops and says, "When did you see them last?" If something's wrong, either in their personal life or not, it could be a large problem.

"Uh," Clint says. "Wait, you seriously don't know the answer? I thought you had all the answers, Tasha. But, a couple days ago? I mean, you were at the meeting this morning. Not a thunder god or grouchy green giant to be seen!"

"I'm just trying to ascertain when things went wrong," she says sharply. "We should go to their house. Banner's house," she amends, too late.

Clint's eyes gleam. "Oh, I knew you were good for gossip," he says. "But, uh, yeah. I guess we could go there. And check...them out."

Natasha doesn't want to go anywhere with him, let alone a place where he'll have more fodder for offensive remarks about his teammates, but she's really concerned. Bruce and Thor are both reasonably good in a crisis (Bruce perhaps only by necessity), but she's better.

"Fine," she says. "But keep your mouth shut and don't ask any stupid questions."

"Okay," he says, finally noticing that Natasha might be a little pissed off at him. He's been told before that he doesn't have any tact. Actually once somebody told him he had anti-tact, like he sucked all the tact out of a room just by being there. Actually that might have been Stark.

Which, ironic.

Natasha nods. "Follow me." She stands up and strides out of the room fast enough that she hopes he'll have to jog a little to keep up. This will probably not be pleasant, no matter how Thor and Bruce are doing.

~

Natasha stops them outside a slightly dilapidated brownstone in the middle of Queens. Clint hates Queens. And, Jesus, why doesn't Banner just move into the Tower if this is the alternative?

"You been here before?" he whispers to Natasha. "They have adorable dinner parties that people named Clint Barton don't get invited to?"

"That," Natasha says, "would be nice. But no. I simply have files with everyone's location." She has fairly direct access to most of Fury's files, actually.

Natasha locates the correct door and raps on it loudly. "That should get their attention. If they are alive."

Clint casts her a leery look. "Cheerful," he says faintly, but he's interrupted from any more conversation by the opening of the door.

Natasha raises her eyebrows. Thor looks disheveled and is wearing a rumpled t-shirt. He also looks exhausted.

"Ah, friends," he says, without his usual brightness. "It would seem I lost track of time and missed our meeting. Yes?"

"Yup," Clint supplies helpfully. "We just came to make sure you and Banner weren't dead or being throttled by Skrulls or something."

Thor blinks at them blankly for a moment and then says, "Nay. Simply...recovering. We were attacked--" He stops and tries again. "Bruce had some difficulty. But we're all right now. Mostly."

Natasha narrows her eyes. Thor is always forthright, except when it comes to one thing: his family.

"Er," says Clint, "so when I said 'throttled by Skrulls' and you said 'nay,' but then you also said, 'we were attacked,' you do understand there's something in there that doesn't add up, right?" He looks at Natasha. "Right?"

Thor sighs deeply. "It was not Skrulls," he says. "It was Loki. He and Bruce had a--an argument."

It's as if he's trying to deliberately find a way of explaining that won't make them attack Loki. "I see," Natasha says.

"Yikes," Clint says. "That's not actually a fight I would want to get involved in. Hey, is Banner all right?"

Thor glances back into the house. "He's...resting. Or trying to. He nearly--he was injured quite badly." Natasha doesn't miss the way his eyes flare and how quickly he quells it.

Clint says, "We shoulda brought flowers," and starts to say something else, when a lovely voice behind him says, in a not very lovely way, "You should move out of the way." When Clint turns around there's a woman behind him, raising her eyebrows at him. She's gorgeous. She's pretty tall.

"Hey there," Clint says.

Natasha is glad that Clint says something before she does. She would doubtless say something even less graceful, although much sharper and colder. The stupidly attractive woman is dressed like Thor, as much as anyone can be dressed like Thor.

"You must be from Asgard," she says, extending her hand. "Natasha Romanov."

Thor steps out of the way, looking a little lost.

Sif clasps Natasha's arm at the wrist. "I am the Lady Sif," she says, "a friend of Thor's." She glances up at Thor to check whether he feels that Natasha and her companion are also friends.

Thor smiles. "Sif, these are two of my teammates. They're here to make sure we're all right, as we missed this morning's meeting. Natasha, Clint, this is one of my best friends."

Thor, Natasha thinks, should bring his friends by more often. Unless they plan to attack the Earth.

Sif says, "I am gladdened to see you improved in the ways of manners, Thor, but introductions generally take place indoors. Invite them in or don't. I have brought 'tea.'" She raises a plastic bag hanging from her other hand, and sweeps up the steps, past Thor and into the house.

Thor hesitates slightly before following her and motioning the others to follow.

Natasha does so. Sif is a lady after her own heart. All business. Very refreshing. 

"Come, Clint," she snaps. "Let us see how Bruce is and if we have any need to be concerned about Loki attacking again."

"All right," Clint shrugs. He has no problem following this obviously very terrifying, very attractive woman into Banner's house.

He looks around when they get inside (man, it's about as dank as it looks from the outside, although New York has about zero buildings he'd qualify as an actual _house,_ so that's neither here nor there) and notices one thing missing. "Whew! This is a lot of us in this one small space. You sure we're not gonna scare the shit out of the poor guy and make him Hulk out on us instead of cheering him up?"

"Don't," Thor snaps. Then he rolls his shoulders and sighs. "My apologies. It's been...difficult."

"I want to see him," Natasha says briskly. "Someone should see if he's _really_ all right."

Sif says, "Thor, perhaps you should go ask Bruce if he wants any guests." She eyes Clint distastefully. "I think your indelicate friend here might have a point, although he makes it poorly."

"Thanks," Clint says.

If Natasha were not otherwise engaged, she would be deeply distracted by Sif. As it is, she's on a mission. "Well, Thor?"

Thor nods. "I'll speak to him. He's exhausted. The healing has taken a toll on him. And...he's had enough people shouting at him."

"I shall be on hand to toss out the extraneous ones as needed," Sif says cheerfully, but instead of getting out a menacing weapon, she turns away and starts to practice her newly acquired skill at brewing modern Midgardian tea.

Thor goes into the bedroom carefully, avoiding loud noises or sudden movements, half out caution and half out of guilt.

"Bruce?" he says softly.

Bruce, who has in fact only just given up on a book and resubmerged himself in a pile of blankets, peeks out and then wiggles slowly into a half-upright position, leaning against the headboard on his side.

"Hmm?" he asks. Thor's voice makes him a little tireder, only because it sounds so anxious, and Bruce can't think clearly enough to decide if Thor _should_ be anxious, and how to fix him up if not. It's been like that since he came back with Sif, and it's simultaneously upsetting and annoying.

"Natasha and Clint are here," Thor says, not moving from just inside the doorway. He doesn't want to get too close until he can take back properly all the things he said.

"Oh, ugh," Bruce says, slithering back under the covers. He peeks out again after a second. "Do they _want_ something?"

"Natasha wants to see if you're all right," Thor says. "Clint just wants...to talk, I think." Thor has learned that no one else really wants that from Clint.

"I'm guessing Natasha wants _visual_ confirmation of my continuing life?" Bruce grumbles.

"I think she wants to repair whatever healing I did," Thor says, smiling faintly. Bruce looks, if not close to completely better, at least less pale. "I should tell her Sif did most of it."

 

Bruce mostly ignores that (he can't think about small talk, it wastes energy and he needs to sleep for at least two more days straight), and says, "Fine. Natasha. Clint, too, I guess. I wish there was a way you could gag him, though."

"I could certainly try," Thor mutters, already backing out of the room. He feels as though he's been muted recently, and he as moves carefully as possible back into the other room.

"He wants to see you," he tells Clint and Natasha, not quite truthfully.

"Thanks!" Clint says. "C'mon, Tasha, let's visit our ailing comrade before changes his mind."

Natasha cannot imagine why Bruce would concede to seeing Clint. He must be truly ill. She walks briskly into the bedroom and comes to a halt in front of Bruce's bed. "Well?"

He looks awful. So does his bedroom, actually. There's a large hole in one wall and a general lack of tidying.

"Not really," Bruce quips. He's aware that his voice is creaky and he can't imagine his face is much less droopy and dark-eyed and pale than it feels. "Sorry about the mess. Hazard of Hulk. And, er. Things."

"I'm less concerned about the mess than I am about your state," Natasha says. "You missed a meeting. You should have _called._ You look half dead, and you did not think this was a problem for the team?"

Bruce isn't sure what his face does then, but he's sure Natasha notices and stores it as evidence of...something. The state of his domestic life, maybe. "I couldn't reach a phone," he says, untangling his bad arm from the blankets and demonstrating his bandages. "Thor didn't call in?"

"Thor probably doesn't know how," she says severely, casting Thor a quelling glance before he can disagree. "What happened to your arm? Do you need real medical attention?"

"Had it," Bruce says. "Much better now. Asgardian medicine's better equipped for...this sort of thing. But it's very strong, for a," he pauses and yawns. "A mortal."

Clint says, "Wow. Remind me to seriously never date any of Loki's relatives."

Thor stirs from the edge of the room where he's been standing awkwardly, but Natasha cuts him off with a gesture.

"Very well." She doesn't have a nurturing bone in her body, but Bruce looks pathetic enough that she's inclined to be gentle. "I take it this was a...personal attack. Not anything that will affect us."

Bruce checks Thor uncomfortably before he says, "It was personal. But I--I think it didn't go how he wanted it to." He feels awful and tired when he says that. It's too much bother to be polite; he turns onto his back and settles into his pillows. "He'll probably look beyond me. If not next time, the time after."

Thor clears his throat. "I hate to say it, but I think any one of my friends is a potential target for him. He's very angry and very hurt, and the angrier and more hurt he becomes, the more of you he's likely to attack, in whatever way he can." He swallows. "I should bring this up at the next meeting."

"Yeah, like the one this morning, for example," Clint says. "I mean, I get that you're all domestic and lovey and everything, but a phone, man, learn to use one."

"Hah," says Bruce.

Thor glances at Bruce gratefully and then says, "Yes, I would like to purchase a phone. I shall discover the proper location for acquiring one soon."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "You two need a minder. And a housekeeper. How long have you been living here?" That's not in her data, or Fury's. Not the specifics, anyway.

"What does that," Bruce starts, and Clint says, "I think she's suggesting that you're hard to access and your house sucks. What, Avengers Tower not good enough for you?"

Bruce almost says, "I hate Tony Stark," but then he remembers that this is not true.

"Hulk likes space," he mumbles. "So do I."

"Good," Natasha says fervently. "I can only take so much difficulty in one building. At least you two are well-mannered enough to do it elsewhere."

"Do what?" Thor asks. "We cause no trouble."

Clint says brightly, "Hey! Did you guys not hear that Captain America is _gay?"_

"Ah, yes, he likes men," Thor says, clearly trying to be helpful. "I was unaware that it was public knowledge."

"It isn't," Natasha says. "It's not even public knowledge that _Tony_ likes men. We need to keep it this way." No one asked her if she wanted to do PR. But no one else will.

Bruce says, sort of unclearly, "Oh, well. At least when we all get outed we'll be the only fags that come equipped with an armoured high-rise."

Clint blinks. Banner looks sort of surprised the moment the words come out of his mouth. Clint agrees with that emotion.

"Uh," he says awkwardly and irrelevantly, "but, hey, _we're_ not gay." He looks at Natasha for friendly backup.

Natasha waves her hand. She'll allow her personal life to become the team's business only when she is presented with no other choice. "Regardless. The team cannot afford negative publicity."

"I don't understand," Thor says. He looks tired.

"She's saying we're going to burn in eternal fire," Bruce says moodily.

"She's saying the American people think gays are creepy! And wrong," Clint clarifies helpfully.

"I brought tea," says Sif from the doorway, sounding put out. "Is this what you call a quiet visit?"

"Tea," Thor says a little desperately. "Sif, thank you. We are just having...an upsetting conversation."

"Clint is right," Natasha clarifies to Bruce, taking the tea from Sif. "It is not my opinion. But you must know it would look bad. Some people care about the look of things."

"Not me," Bruce says. He's getting a little overwhelmed, but he's also obstinately ignoring it. He turns his glare on Clint and thinks about things he could _say._

Sif answers Thor, "Well, cease conversing. In here, anyway. There are chairs in the other room and a door between here and there. I am going to shut it, and you are all going to be on the other side. Except you," she adds to Bruce, who snorts, but weakly.

"I agree," Natasha says. "This is not the time to pester Bruce with our concerns. Get well." She nods to him and shepherds the others back out.

"I'll be back soon," Thor says doggedly as he retreats.

Bruce isn't too tired to feel a little wretched about Thor, who's obviously unhappy. When Sif shuts the door, she says, "Finally. No bedside manner to speak of in any of them. I don't know if that mortal man or Thor is worst."

"Thor's just upset with me," Bruce says.

"Fool. He is upset about you. And about his brother. He is only upset _at_ himself."

"I'd talk to him if I could just _wake up,"_ Bruce tells her.

"You are working hard on healing," Sif says. "I will talk to Thor. That will have to tide him over until you are well enough to do the job yourself."

Natasha, once outside, turns to Clint. "I don't know why you _speak."_ Clint hasn't exactly done anything, but she's annoyed with Bruce for looking so ill, and with Thor for looking so edgy and concerned. It's not a good situation.

"Oh," says Clint, and then bites his lip. Because that is speaking. He locates a chair near the tea pot and sits down.

"Oh," Natasha says, frustrated, "no, stop that. I am simply...concerned for the team. It's hardly your fault you cannot be quiet. And _you."_ She rounds on Thor. "What did you do?"

"I know not," Thor mutters, clearly lying.

Clint says, "Oh, god, is this the next Avengers thing? First everyone is gay, now everyone is mad?"

"I think that's the _old_ Avengers thing," Natasha says. "Both of those things."

"Oh," says Clint. "Well, it's new to me."

That's true. He usually feels really good about work. No one has ever told him any of this stuff. Not that they were gay _or_ upset.

"Hey," he says, "do you guys hang out with our teammates a lot, when we're not, you know--avenging? I mean, you, obviously," Clint nods at Thor and waves towards the bedroom door.

"No," Natasha says swiftly and with venom.

"Tony and Steve do," Thor says a little more brightly. "And Steve and I had coffee. I think we're friends."

"Haha," says Clint. "Okay." He feels uncomfortably like if you're in the middle of telling a joke and you look up to find out your friends have gotten up and left on a private jet for a spectacular vacation in Maui. "So, how about this problem with Loki? Is, um--is Banner really all right?"

"I think he was more harmed by Loki's words than his actions," Thor says quietly.

If Loki uses words as a weapon, the Avengers are _doomed,_ Natasha thinks unpleasantly.

"Oh," Clint says. Actually Clint isn't sure what to say to that. "Well, he should fight me, next, then, right, because I'm completely obtuse!"

It's a private joke with himself, because Hank said it one time, and Clint thinks Hank Pym is the last person in the _world_ who gets to rank other people in being obtuse.

He realizes after he's said it that maybe the joke part won't go through very well.

Thor chuckles. "Loki would have a difficult time hurting you, my friend. You're very resilient."

That, Natasha thinks, is nicer than Clint deserves. "At least for once you are self-aware," she tells him. "If Loki truly intends to attack us again, we need a plan. We need to be ready for him to say hurtful things, and we must not react as he wants us to. And remember, he can change shape." Not that any of them would notice the difference, she thinks.

"Ugh," says Clint. "Exactly what we need is being paranoid 'cause anyone we talk to might be our teammate's brother trying to kill us."

Thor winces. "Not...trying to kill you, I think. Not unless you make him truly angry. He just wants to hurt you. And he doesn't even really want that. I...have been thinking."

"And?" Clint asks.

Thor pauses and looks at his hands. "I worry that my being on the team does more harm than good, with Loki doing what he has been." When he looks up, his expression is pained. "I thought I should bring it up. At the meeting."

Clint frowns. "You really think a strategic retreat would make him leave us alone?" he says. "I'd think he'd be twice as nasty knowing you had left. You know, if he's really as smart as he thinks and can see through a 'my boyfriend got the shit kicked out of him and my friends might be next so I'd better leave like I don't care' act."

Natasha gives Clint an approving little nod. "It is good that you told us this before Bruce."

Thor squeezing his eyes shut for a second, looking immensely grateful. "I--yes. You're right. Thank you. I just thought...thank you. It's been difficult. Bruce and I quarreled."

Clint says, "You're. The god. Of thunder. He's the _Hulk._ I'm pretty sure that's bound to happen?"

Thor laughs and drags a hand over his eyes. "I wish I had come to the meeting. I would have felt better sooner."

Natasha has no idea how, but Clint's bizarre brand of communication seems to be working on Thor. Probably because Thor is also in the running for most obtuse Avenger.

"The more you know," Clint agrees. He is halfway through a cup of tea. He doesn't remember even giving himself a cup of tea, but all right.

"We will tackle the problem as it arises," Natasha says. "If we can stop tearing one another apart briefly."

Thor looks so sad at this that she sighs exasperatedly and adds, "It is _fine._ Steve and Tony are worse."

Clint's head swivels around. "Oh, I love it when Steve's angry. Does Steve get angry at Stark? Oh my god, of course he does, they are like two completely different embodiments of the American ideal."

Natasha thinks very little of the so-called _American ideal,_ but Clint is quite right. "I think he was less angry and more...distressed. Naturally, he has had trouble adjusting to our time."

Thor nods helpfully. "Yes, but he's doing better now."

Natasha ignores him. "And anyone would have trouble adjusting to Tony."

Clint says, "I dunno, I mean, he can kind of be a jerk I guess, but aside from kind of being a chick, he's not a bad guy."

" _Damn it, Clint,"_ Natasha says.

At the same time, Thor says, "A 'chick'?"

"Yeah, you know!" Clint says, and then looks in alarm at Natasha. "Uh. You know?"

"No," she snaps. "Do you think they have your American tabloids in Asgard?"

"Well, but he," Clint starts. "I mean, but--oh. And I shouldn't...but seriously, Loki turns into a girl, why should Thor care?"

Natasha shrugs at him. "How should I know what Asgardians would think?"

Thor frowns, clearly baffled. "Can Tony transform as well? Can mortals _do_ that? I had thought not."

"Anyone can transform if they're rich enough," Clint says. "Not that I begrudge the guy! Since he, you know, puts us up in that giant building he made."

Thor opens his mouth and Natasha says, " _No._ If Thor is going to learn about this, he will learn with small words and no jokes. But I don't feel that it is necessary that he learn at this juncture."

"Can mortals _buy magic?"_ Thor asks, but under his breath, clearly aware that Natasha is annoyed with his questions.

"But I already told him halfway!" Clint protests. "You should just let me finish! He'll just ask Steve or Tony about Tony's magic body and that will be a whole new mess you have to clean up!"

Natasha is about to tell him to shut up, but she realizes he’s right. "Oh, _fine._ Go on."

Clint beams at her.

"Okay," he says to Thor. "So. Sometimes mortals do crazy things, like decide that if they're born a girl, and named something like, you know, _Natasha Stark,_ that being a girl is gross and they're really a boy, so then they change their names and take drugs to make them more like a dude, with, you know, hairiness and a big booming voice and so on. And sometimes they lose the boobs, too, but that's not drugs, that's terrifying surgery. And then the tabloids are _crazy_ about it for years, but sometimes Tony Stark is so fucking rich he can make them shut up and mostly people don't remember whether or not that whole Natasha thing was a joke. Except I remember!"

Thor stares for a long moment, during which Natasha is not sure whether or not he's going to say something offensive.

Then he says, "Ah. How difficult not to have magic. Loki simply uses that." He frowns as if he's unsure that's right.

"Yeah, magic! What's that about?" Clint asks. "Are you magic? Is your hammer magic? Does everyone in Asgard go around switching off genders all the time?"

Thor pauses even longer this time. Then he says shortly, "No. No, only Loki. It is...I think perhaps if money could make gossip go away in Asgard, our family might have spent half our treasury on Loki."

"Well, it's nice they'd want to go through the bother if they could, anyway," Clint says.

"That's not what I meant," Thor says darkly. "It would not be for his sake. Only for the sake of having no more tales told about the sons of Odin and how...irregular they can be."

"Oh," Clint says uncomfortably. "I'm sorry. I--hey, how are _you?"_

Thor brightens. "Exhausted," he says. "Guilty. Worried. I think I can fix these things in regard to Bruce, or I hope I can. But not when it comes to Loki." He squeezes his eyes shut. "For now, I will settle for Bruce getting well."

"That's rough," Clint says, and then he's annoyed that this is generally the best he can do.

Thor relaxes noticeably. "Yes. It is. But it's all right." He smiles at Clint. "Thank you, friend."

 _This should not be working,_ Natasha thinks.

"Oh, Jeez," Clint says. "Um. You're welcome." He smiles, a little askew.

He likes his teammates, but they don't typically call him a friend. He thinks it's mostly because they're so damn weird and he's not, but still. Gives him a touchy-feely feeling, that Thor seems to like him, and seems to mean it.

"This is unproductive," Natasha says without much feeling. If Clint is going to make Thor stop looking like a kicked dog, she can't complain too hard. At least part of the team should be functional. "If Bruce is feeling up to it, we should meet tomorrow. We need to discuss the Loki problem. At least put people on their guard."

"Oh, yeah," Clint agrees. "We should clear out. I mean, if you don't need us for anything. I'm glad you're both okay, man."

"I thank you," Thor says, sounding almost pathetically grateful. "We'll be all right now. He's healing. I think we'll get over our...argument once he's feeling well enough to talk about it. I appreciate the visit."

"Any time!" Clint says, getting up. "Could you thank your friend for the tea?"

"She will be gratified to hear that it was good," Thor says fondly.

Natasha hopes more Asgardians are not intending to stay, despite Sif's attractive qualities.


	3. clint is not allowed to offend steve's boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What you just said," Steve growls, "is not acceptable."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Clint says stupid transphobic things.

"We should tell Steve, right?" Clint says as they walk through the lobby of Avengers Tower. "He's responsible. And Tony too I guess, since it's his team and everything. Oh, but not Hank, he'll just try to use Banner for science, which, I think that guy is already scienced out, and Jan is great but she'll definitely tell Hank. Which we don't want."

Natasha remembers that she told Jan she'd tell her things more often, but she doesn't feel the need to mention that.

"Indeed," she agrees. "Although I doubt either of them will have a helpful reaction to the...Loki situation."

"Seriously, Tasha, how many people on this team have helpful reactions to anything?" Clint says while they're in the revolving door. "Hang on, I'll call Tony, he won't get all pissy about being team leader that way." He wanders into an elevator with the assumption that Natasha will follow him, and calls Tony as the doors shut.

Natasha isn't sure how she feels about Clint pretending he's in charge, but he's small and harmless, and he's actually getting things done, so she lets him.

Tony picks up the phone almost immediately. "Yeah?"

"Hi!" Clint says. "Hawkeye. Black Widow and I just paid a visit to the Banner household, we have a couple things to catch you up on. I'd like to say they're not bad things, but they are! Is Cap around too, maybe? Uh, but we want to keep this generally a little more quiet."

"Uh, yeah, he's right here," Tony says after a second. "We can come in. Or maybe you should just come see me? Is Bruce okay?"

"Uh," says Clint. "Well, he's alive. That's pretty good, I guess. We'll come up. Your place or Cap's?"

There's another brief pause. "Mine. We're just having tea. Uh. Right! So, yes, come up and update us."

"Right," Clint repeats, and hangs up. He hits a button several floors past the one that's already glowing and says to Natasha, "Tony's place. Steve's already there. Apparently they're having tea."

"Is this a metaphor," Natasha says flatly. Knowing them, it probably isn't. They're probably just too anxious to do anything else. Clearly introducing Clint into the mix will improve that.

"I really don't know," Clint says. "He kept pausing." The elevator dings, and the doors open on Tony's floor. "I'm going to hope the answer is an obvious and resounding no."

"I doubt they've gotten further than...boiling the water," Natasha says, striding forward to rap on the door.

Tony yanks it open without hesitation. "Oh, you," he says.

"We did say we were coming," Clint says.

Steve fits himself into the doorway behind Tony. "Clint, Natasha," he says convivially, but Clint notices his cheeks are a little pink. "I hear you have bad news?"

"Yes," Natasha says. "Loki attacked Bruce. He is still healing. Thor is distraught and useless. Thor thinks Loki may attack the rest of the team."

"Wow," Tony says. "That's...pretty much all the bad news."

"Maybe we should come in," Clint suggests.

"Ah," Natasha says dismissively. She shrugs and comes in.

Tony steps back to get out of her way, still kind of annoyed that she's taller than him. But her boots have heels.

"Sit," he says. "There's definitely hot water left over. What exactly happened to Bruce?" He's guessing Bruce is either hurt or upset badly enough not to be here.

"Uh," says Clint, edging in behind Natasha and coming out in front. "They didn't actually say? But Banner's bedridden. There's something wrong with his arm. Thor's got one of his Asgard pals helping Banner out, a very lovely lady named Sif, I believe, not that anyone present except myself would care how lovely she is. But Thor said he thought Loki did more damage with his talking than his...beating Banner up." Clint shrugs.

Steve frowns. "Do you think Loki tried to kill him and couldn't? Hulk's strong, but..."

"No," Natasha says, shaking her head. "I don't think he wanted to kill him, or he would have. He attacked him as Bruce."

"So he wanted to freak him out," Tony says, but most of his brain is being annoyed that Clint apparently knows more about their personal lives than he should.

"Charming guy," Clint mutters.

Steve says, "Do you think Loki knows that Bruce is Thor's...?"

"Boyfriend?" Clint says. "C'mon, Cap, I know you're from the past, but if you're gonna walk the walk, you've at least gotta learn to talk the word boyfriend."

Tony agrees vehemently, but he doesn't think Steve needs any more pressure on him right now. Instead, he says, "It's Loki. Of course he knows. When doesn't he know things? But now that he's messed that one up, he's not going to stop until he gets reaction from Thor. By going through us."

"Right!" says Clint. "That's what we were thinking. Uh, but we didn't think of anything we could do about it. Although we did stop Thor from quitting the team, which I think is a pretty good start."

"Quitting?" Steve says, startled. He's imagined Thor stepping down from the Avengers, of course, because Thor has another life and other duties that (Steve thinks) he should probably return to at some point. But turning tail? That doesn't sound like him.

Natasha snorts. "He was afraid of endangering us, I think. And especially Bruce. You should have seen him tiptoeing around the house."

Tony frowns. Okay, so, Thor is officially the best boyfriend ever. They should all feel bad about themselves. Also, it's a really good thing he isn't quitting.

"Secretly under all that manly muscle he's just a kitten," Clint says cheerfully. "A kitten with a big deadly lightning-bolt hammer and a psychotic gay magical sibling. You know."

"I wouldn't say psychotic," Tony says.

"I would." Natasha crosses her arms. "What do you want to do about this? We should at least be careful."

"SHIELD needs to know Loki's an active threat," Steve says. "They can be on the lookout for him, maybe get a lead on what he's doing when he's not kicking our teammates around. In the meantime, we brief everyone, and when Thor can, he'll need to give us a better background on how to deal with Loki and his tricks when we do meet him." He finishes speaking and looks immediately guilty and to his left. "Er," he says to Tony, "if that...sounds good to you."

"Huh," Tony says lightly, "guess those old army habits die hard. Sure, that's fine. Do we really have to tell Hank? Kidding, of course. Hank deserves to be warned about Loki." He doesn't really think that's true, but he's trying to sound like a responsible, mature leader. Which he should. Given that he's probably, like, twice Steve's age. Oh god.

Clint looks between the two of them and says, "Wow, Cap, someone's sure got you pussy-whipped."

"Oh," Tony says. It's more an exhalation than a word, but it's not under his breath. He sounds the same as he feels: like someone just punched him in the stomach. He...didn't expect that.

"Tony?" Steve says. He hears the note in Tony's voice, that awful one that was there when Steve--but it takes him a moment longer to register what Clint said. When it does, Steve forgets to think. He whips around, grabs Clint by the collar, and slams him up against the wall.

Clint's feet dangle in the air, and he goggle-eyes at Cap, waiting to see if maybe he is going to die now, crushed to death in the arms of the perfect soldier.

"Wha!" he gasps.

"What you just said," Steve growls, "is not acceptable."

"Oh, no, you don't need--" Tony starts, but he's thinking too many things at once to express any of them. "It was just a stupid joke," he says. What he means is, _No one has defended me since a person who didn't mean it._

Steve whips his head around the other way, to face Tony, without actually letting go of Clint or letting Clint's feet touch the floor. "You got one part of that right," he snaps. To Clint he says, "The stupid part. That's private information you're throwing around, not to mention a pretty tasteless way to talk. If you ever make another crack about Tony that sounds _anything like_ what I just heard, you won't even get a _chance_ to quit the Avengers. I'll toss you out the nearest window and find out if a Hawkeye can fly."

"Uh," squeaks Clint.

"God," Tony mutters under his breath. His mouth is dry, and he doesn't think he's ever been so grateful in his life.

Natasha crosses her arms and looks at Clint and Steve. "I suggest you apologize, Clint. Then we can move on."

"Christ!" Clint stutters. "everyone's so sensitive today. I--uh! I mean. I..."

He looks down at Cap, who really seems like he's about to act on his threat. That's pretty good incentive to apologize, right there. Clint really doesn't like the way his feet are hanging out without touching the ground. He really doesn't like how much it makes him think about things like falling, and dying.

He looks at Tony too, though, and Tony looks--well, shit. He looks pale and sick, kind of shaken up, kind of like he just found out somebody died.

Clint gets the nastiest feeling that Natasha might have been downplaying how big a deal this whole thing is. No matter whose fault it is, though, he can't leave it that way.

"Tony!" he gasps, slapping at Cap's wrist ineffectually. "I'm really really sorry. Words come out of my mouth, y'know? Very stupid words. That was very stupid."

Tony fights a very strong urge to flee, mostly when Clint starts apologizing. "It happens," he says. "I mean, it happens to me all the time. With words coming out of my mouth. Stupider ones than that. And remind me to tell you about how I bought Pepper strawberries. Seriously, not a big deal."

He's been dealing with this since he was seventeen. It shouldn't be a big deal. But this is his _team._ He wants it to go right and _only_ right.

Steve frowns and eases Clint to the floor, and Clint sort of swarms out of his grip to trot over to Tony. "Oh, no," he says. "Seriously, don't do that. I only half understand what I did wrong just now, okay? And you don't have to brush it off like that, I can't improve myself if you tell me it didn't matter. What if I fucking believe you, y'know? Anyway, man, you look like a lamb. A lamb getting chewed on by a wolf. It's fucking awful."

Tony _really hates_ being a lamb. And it only happens once in a while, because the people who matter are few and far between, and some of them don't fuck up.

He rubs the back of his neck and looks slightly past Clint. "Okay. So, it was a big deal. Because that's not...who I am. And the only reason anyone thinks it is, is because the media wouldn't drop it."

He feels sick. He doesn't have conversations like this, and he really doesn't have them in front of people. But he's been learning how to do all kinds of new things in the past couple of years.

"Right," says Clint with a nod, interpreting an order even if Tony isn’t giving it. "So, I drop it." 

He says, with just one more wary glance back at Steve, "So...between all of us, who do you think Loki sees as second-best to Bruce?"

"Okay," Tony says, a little surprised (and vastly relieved), "that's actually the right question. Any takers?"

"Not me," Natasha says unhelpfully.

"It must be one of you two," Clint nods to Cap and Tony. "You're the center of our operation, you're the--well, either it's gotta be Cap, because shining beacons of honor stick together, or it's gotta be Tony because it's pretty common knowledge you and Thor are friends. Speaking of the news rags," he adds.

"Great," Tony says miserably. The last thing he wants is Loki messing with _either_ of them. "What's he likely to do? We really need to get Thor in on this."

"It's not like he's out of commission. He's just worried about Banner," Clint says. "Even if we can't get him to leave the house I'm sure we could go there and _ask."_

"I'm not a _beacon,"_ Steve says plaintively.

Tony chuckles and pats Steve's arm. "You kind of are. I'll bet Loki hates you most of all. You know, after Thor."

Natasha is glaring at them. "We will ask," she says sternly. "We will find out all of his tactics. And no one is allowed to be difficult because talking about Loki is _hard_ for him. He can manage."

"Hey, team leader, hey shining beacon of honor," Clint says to Tony and Cap. "Hey, imminent targets of Thor's brother's personality disorder. I bet Thor would talk to _you."_


	4. sif plans a trip to latveria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So many rude men in this conversation," Sif observes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Thor has been alternating between anxious pacing and sitting at the table drinking tea. When he's finally so full of caffeine that he can't sit still any longer, he knocks on Bruce's bedroom door again.

"Wha?" Bruce says, waking up, sitting up, jarring his arm, and flopping back down again. "Are there more Avengers?"

"No," Thor whispers, slipping inside and shutting the door behind him. "Just me. I wanted to see how you were. I didn't mean to disturb you." He's practically vibrating with anxiety, which isn't like him. They don't have caffeine in Asgard.

"You're not," Bruce says. He carefully sits himself up again. "Sit down, won't you, you look like you're about to fly out a window. I mean--please don't do that, I still haven't fixed the wall."

Thor smiles, slightly relieved, and perches on the edge of the bed. "I had six cups of your 'tea.' None were chamomile." He pauses and blinks at Bruce. "How _are_ you? I wish we hadn't quarreled before you nearly--before you fell so ill."

Every word out of his mouth makes Bruce a little miserable. "Oh, hell," he says. "Which thing do you want to talk about first?"

Thor tries to make himself settle more properly on the bed, but the combination of guilt and tea won't let him. "I wanted to say I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "And that I wish I could prove to you how much I've changed since I came to Midgard."

Bruce says uncomfortably, "He's really good at wording things."

Thor laughs despite himself. Oh yes, Loki is certainly that. 

"Yes," he says darkly. "And making half-truths true. What did he say to you that I can repair?" _If I can repair it,_ he thinks. _I promise I'm not a monster._

"Ah," Bruce said. "He only--well, I think everything he said boiled down to you being capricious and violent, and me being...temporary. One way or another."

Thor grits his teeth. Loki isn't wrong about him, or at least not about what he used to be, but Loki is _wrong about Bruce._ Thor takes a deep breath. "If it is within my power to keep you for as long as I live, Bruce Banner, I will do so." He thinks it might be too much. He doesn't care.

"Oh," Bruce says. Not because-- "But I'm mortal. And..." And not much fun. And he couldn't go back to Asgard, could he? When Thor has to go.

"I know," Thor says swiftly. "But there are ways...I can try to...I don't want to lose you." He glares at the window, very carefully not blinking so he won't accidentally start to cry. He rubs his arms. _Tea._

 _If I die you'll outlive it and be fine,_ Bruce wants to say. Instead he says, "Temporary is kind of the norm. Here."

"I don't like it," Thor says, too upset to know what he's saying. "If I someday make peace with my father, perhaps you'll be allowed to...I..." He pauses. "Of course, one never knows when Ragnarok may come. You could well outlive me."

Bruce laughs. "Cheery," he says. "But, I--listen, I'm kind of used to the idea that I can die and stay dead. There may be people like Doctor Doom who try to get around that, but I've always been comfortable with the idea that I get to, you know, stop at some point. So we can talk about this...at some point...but not yet. Okay? I...taking away someone's mortality isn't necessarily any more good than it is easy. No matter how much I like you." He glances at his hands. "Which is quite a lot."

Thor takes a deep, shaky breath. He's worked himself up over something that (hopefully, hopefully) won't be a concern for a long time.

"Yes," he says. "All right. I suppose all that really matters at the moment is that you know I would never hurt you. No matter what I did in the past."

"Hulk was right," Bruce says. "He--we. We've killed people. Innocent people. And I know perfectly well how you fight. I just...you messed up one time with me, right at the beginning, and you haven't stopped being incredibly thoughtful ever since. I think I...was making you less of a person than you are. I think I forgot." He looks up and grimaces. "I'm mad at you for being nice."

Thor finally settles on the bed, edging close enough to put his hand on Bruce's leg. "I...thank you. For remembering. I try." He honestly, truly does. He's made enough big mistakes in the past that he doesn't think he'll ever _stop_ trying.

"I noticed," Bruce says. He sighs. "I'm sorry about your brother."

Thor squeezes Bruce's leg. "As am I. I'm afraid of what he'll do now that you've thwarted him. Which I'm proud of, by the way."

Bruce says, "He wanted me to hurt people."

"Yes," Thor says. He shifts to put his arm gently around Bruce. "I'm afraid he'll try to make the rest of the team hurt people, too. It's better than if he were just hurting _them._ He thinks."

"He's right," Bruce says, "but what I meant was, why is that what he wants? If he was always like that I don't think you'd be so damned upset."

Thor takes a deep, shaky breath. He wishes he'd _been _there. He can only fill in he details from what Loki and their father have said cryptically at one point or another.__

But he supposes the main point is... "He found out he was adopted," Thor says. It's a beginning. One possible beginning.

"From a country your country's not fond of," says Bruce. "Yeah. That's--you know, a lot of people would call that 'problematic.' For an enemy king to adopt a kid from a race he looks down on, hide the kid's appearance because it's not an acceptable way to look or thing to be, and dress him up like a prince even though he's clearly never going to get the same privileges as, say, you. Oh, and keep telling the kid that the people he comes from are monsters so when it finally comes out it’s a big fucking mess. That's kind of...Victorian." He squints. "Which is to say, really self-righteous and brutal and pretending to be good manners."

Thor is always so relieved when mortals have the words to describe what's troubling and awful about Asgard.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, I think you understand quite well why Loki is upset. And why he's upset at me." He gives an apologetic little shrug. "It's not my fault I was what Odin considered a perfect son. But it's my fault I don't hate Loki for not being one."

"On the one hand," says Bruce, "I have boundless sympathy for the shit you two are in. On the other, I lied, it isn't boundless, because your little brother is damn vicious. Ow."

Thor smiles and kisses the side of Bruce's head. "I won't argue. He needs to be stopped before he does more damage to the rest of you. Or to himself." That's not even close to a plan, but it's still true.

"Not to mention you," Bruce grumbles, but then he hears something other than Sif in another part of the house. "Was that really the door? Will I ever have a moment of precious solitude again?"

Thor disentangles himself from Bruce quickly and stands. "Let me handle it. You need to rest. If it's important, I can tell you later."

"I _am_ a full-grown independent being," Bruce protests. "If it's more Avengers, I'm coming out. Don't...let them in here."

Thor chuckles. "Yes, we may need your...incisiveness. Come, then." He retreats from the bedroom, still shaking a little from the tea.

"You don't have to," Bruce starts, but since Thor is already on his way out the door, Bruce shrugs and gets to his feet on his own. He only wobbles for a few seconds, actually, and by the time he catches up in the kitchen, he almost feels okay. At least Asgardian medicine works better than Asgardian parenting.

Thor is delighted to see Steve and Tony in the kitchen. "Friends!" he exclaims. "What brings you here?" He hopes it's nothing else dire.

Bruce is right behind him, and Steve thinks that Clint was right--not about him being bedridden, apparently, but he certainly isn't well. Steve looks to Tony.

"Whoa," Tony says. "Bruce, are you--? Clint and Natasha told us what happened. You need anything?"

"Sif's medicine should suffice," Thor says, but he appreciates the offer.

"I'm not going to look in a mirror," Bruce says, levering himself into a kitchen chair.

Sif says, "These aren't your good looks, then? When you're well you must be stunning," which she delivers dryly enough that Bruce laughs. He doesn't say that he makes himself green with envy, but only because he's very, very good. 

"Can we do something?" he asks their guests.

Tony ignores Thor beaming at Sif and Bruce. "Yeah," he says, "but I can't promise it's pleasant. We need to talk about Loki. We need a game plan, and probably fast. From what the others said, it sounds like he's worked himself up and isn't likely to stop. So it might be nice to be ready."

Thor frowns. He didn't want to have to have this conversation with the Avengers.

Steve says, "It's not that we want to pry, soldier, but you're not going to feel better about keeping quiet the day someone else gets hurt."

Thor nods to him gratefully. "I know," he says. "And I probably should have said something sooner. But I can't stop thinking of him as my little brother." Tony looks like he's about to say something, but Thor doesn't want to know what it is, so he continues, "He won't kill any of you, I don't think."

"I am certain they are reassured," Sif says, waving her hand at Bruce.

"So glad to be a helpful sample," Bruce says.

"Ma'am, I think you express my feelings pretty well," Steve says. "And forgive me saying, Thor, but I think your brother has been known to mess things up. Just because he doesn't mean to kill us doesn't make me all that comfortable with him getting too close."

Thor wishes he could argue, but no. Steve is right. "That _is_ a concern. I know it is. But not our first concern, I think. He won't go for the kill. He'll try to push you first." Talking about Loki like this, like one of the _supervillains_ they fight, makes him feel miserable.

"So," Tony says casually, "you're saying he'll be rude to us?"

"To be fair," Bruce says, "he's really good at rude."

"Sorry if I'm not that worried about someone being mean." Tony shrugs. "I think we need to figure out his weak points and the extent of his powers. That sounds more helpful."

Sif laughs. "Loki has magic, and the other characteristics of a Frost Giant, and he is physically a match or better for any of you. But his words _are_ his powers. If you behave otherwise he'll have no trouble dispatching you at all."

"He can destroy any man with words alone," Thor agrees. They need to understand this. They need to know who Loki is, or what happened to Bruce will happen to all of them. Or worse.

"Okay, okay," Tony says, holding up his hands. "I guess we'll take your word for it."

"You should," Bruce says, eyebrows raised. "Look at you, stab you in the chest with fatal explosives and you're fine, call you irresponsible and you practically have a nervous breakdown."

"So many rude men in this conversation," Sif observes. Steve, frowning very hard, agrees.

"Ah," Tony says, looking effectively quelled. "Point taken. So, we should be on the lookout for that."

"But we can't fight among ourselves," Thor says quickly. "That's what he'll want above all else. To destroy this team because it matters to me."

Steve shakes his head. "You have very dedicated family, don't you?"

Sif snorts. "Loki may be a stupid, violent child, but at least after a fashion you can say that for him."

Bruce glances at Thor. He's been delicate about Thor's family since the beginning, but clearly that's finished. "Who do you think he'd attack?" he asks Thor.

Thor swallows quickly. He didn't think this would be easy, so he's been readying himself. "I...I would guess those of you I'm closest to. Probably Steve or Tony." He glances at them apologetically. "Those who he thinks he could push into hurting themselves or others in whatever way."

"Well," Tony says, "that doesn't count anyone out."

"Maybe not," says Sif, "but who is in charge of this organization of yours? Is it you?" She looks at Steve.

"Ha," Tony says. "Actually, it's me."

"Yes," says Steve. "I'm just tall."

Bruce laughs.

Tony grins. "Yeah, I don't know how you do it in Asgard, but..."

"Loki is going to have trouble turning this team on each other," Thor says fiercely, incredibly proud of them.

Bruce smiles at him. "He'll do a hell of a number on our self-esteem, though," he says.

Steve says, "Oh, Lord."

"Wow," Tony says. "Yes. But at least we practice on each other."

"So," Steve says, "what's the plan now? Are we going to wait for Loki to come back and...be rude to us? I've suggested that maybe SHIELD could help us locate him, either for monitoring, or if a more direct confrontation is called for."

If it were a direct confrontation, Bruce knows, they would be in horrible trouble. And Thor would almost certainly try to go alone, too, which is really the last thing Bruce wants to think about.

Thor stiffens. "I would prefer not to involve SHIELD," he says sharply. It wouldn't work, and they'd get themselves killed. Worse, it _would_ work.

"Not to engage!" Steve says quickly. He's still not certain why everyone seems to distrust them so much, especially since--as far as he knows, this team is still nominally under their umbrella.

"They don't know how to do that," Bruce says.

"Yeah," Tony says with distaste, "they don't know how to do much."

"Except threaten to torture people," Thor amends.

Tony's eyebrows go up, but he just says, "Yeah. Point is, Steve, SHIELD is _not_ who we want to call on this one."

"Torture!" Steve says. "Would they really--have they _done_ that?"

"Never trust a militia," Bruce says. "Or the army. Or any large group of people wearing the same outfit and especially carrying guns."

"Some of my best friends are military, but I have to agree with Bruce on this one," Tony says. "Sorry, Steve. SHIELD is pretty awful."

"I have never known an army as brutal as SHIELD, and I come from a warrior culture," Thor says vehemently. "The difference is, we don't _hide_ it."

Steve feels a little deflated. Loki's work is clearly getting itself done without him. "All right, no SHIELD," he says. "How will we find your brother, then?"

Thor hadn't really thought about that. Of course Loki must be _staying_ somewhere. "He has no friends in Midgard," he says thoughtfully. "Well, that I know of."

"Have you tried Brazil?" Bruce asks helpfully.

"He must have at least one person coaxed over to his side," Sif says. "We always were, even when we were being less than pleasant. Although he isn't so adept at 'charmingly helpless' anymore, is he?"

"I never saw him that way," Thor says. "Not really. But you're right. He's...upset, now. Very upset. He won't draw people in."

Tony laughs, but not really like he's amused. "Or he'll just draw in crazy people."

"Which leads you to wonder," Bruce says, "why he's not just trying to make friends with us."

Sif says, "If nothing else, he's probably keeping himself somewhere cool. He seemed comfortable enough in Asgard, but this world is much hotter. That's no treat for a Frost Giant no matter where it was raised."

Thor rolls his shoulders, still uncomfortable with anyone calling Loki a Frost Giant. It won't help to say so, though. "I don't know what places in Midgard are cold."

Tony has produced a pen from somewhere and his flipping it between his fingers. "So, cold, crazy people. That doesn't narrow it down much."

"If he's clever enough to find Bruce on a day off, without Thor, he's probably clever enough to identify our enemies," Steve says. "Who do we know who fits that criteria? We can make a list."

"Uh oh," Tony says. "I just had a horrible thought. Cold. Crazy people. _Powerful_ crazy people. That's not actually a very long list."

"Who...is on it?" Steve says.

"Oh," says Bruce flatly. "I already said that name today. Do you really think Doom would make friends with Loki, or just...turn him into a robot?"

"Well, I just can't imagine what he'd get out of it." Tony chews the end of his pen. "Maybe he's making another bid for immortality."

Thor is made very uncomfortable by all this.

"You have an enemy called _Doom?"_ Sif asks.

"Yeah," Tony says, "and apparently it's his real name. But I don't know why he and Loki would be working together."

"Loki has been known to find his reasons," Thor says. He's distressed and caffeinated enough to be a little unkind, and he's never liked that habit of Loki's.

Steve says, thinking of other cold, crazy people who might hate him, "Okay, so how do we find out if Doom's got him or not?"

Thor is about to suggest calling him on the phone, but he realizes that's just too long with mortals talking.

Then Tony says, "Call him up. Ask if he's housing and possibly messing around with a crazy god." He glances at Thor, possibly checking how many offensive things he's said.

Thor shrugs unhappily.

"Huh," Bruce says. "He probably _would_ tell us. Knowing Doom."

"I do not," Sif says. "Who is this person?" What she wants to know is what Loki's tastes are turning towards these days, but that's not the kind of question that makes Thor happy with her.

"He's a genius," Tony says, sounding more appreciative than anyone should.

"A madman," Thor clarifies. "And a 'scientist'. I'm not sure what Loki would see in him." But then, Thor can rarely see what Loki wants with his chosen mates.

"He's a lot like you," Bruce says to Tony. "You know. Crazy. Loves science. Big metal suit."

Steve frowns. "They're nothing--" he starts.

"It's okay," Tony cuts in quickly, holding up his hands. "I mean, hey, rather be compared to him than Reed, you know?" His laugh is a little staggered, though, like it's catching up with itself.

"Then perhaps Loki will be lured in by Tony next," Thor says. It's not as funny as he meant it to be.

"Thor," Bruce says reprovingly.

"That's not funny," Steve says at the same time. When they both stop to look at each other uncomfortably, Steve says, "Short of calling Doom up, what do we do?"

"We mention Doom next time Loki pulls something on one of us," Tony says, lighting up. Thor has come to recognize that as his _hey! had an idea_ look.

"And when you do, he can lie to you," Sif says. "You'll need more proof than that, I think."

"We could send someone to look," Bruce suggests darkly.

"I think asking will work," Tony argues. "Loki might be a liar, but he has no poker face."

"I could go to Latveria," Thor says resignedly. "I am willing."

"That's not what I meant," Bruce says sharply, and Sif says, "Thor, if you find him, you know you won't be able to leave him there. You'll go after him and you'll get yourself hurt, which I don't think your friends can afford."

"I just," Thor says, feeling immensely helpless. He doesn't know how to protect his friends or his brother or _anyone._ "I don't know what to do," he admits.

Steve reaches down and clasps Thor's shoulder. "You're not in the best position to make decisions about this," he says.

Sif says, "I could go."

"Whoa," Tony says, "I'm not sure that's--"

"Brilliant," Thor says, over him. Sif may not be the most diplomatic of people, but at least she's competent. She can sort this out.

"How about no," Tony counters. "Look, the last thing we need is to risk some kind of international incident. Sending an Asgardian warrior to Latveria? There's no way this will end well."

"And I suppose it will end well if one of you goes?" Sif shoots back. "At least I have some understanding of what Loki is. And enough objectivity not to be caught in his snares."

Bruce says, "It _is_ an Asgardian looking for an Asgardian. We might cause the bigger incident. You know, assuming we aren't killed."

Tony pauses. "Well...Okay, point. At least this way we can kind of stay out of it." He crosses his arms, clearly stepping out of the conversation.

Thor nods. "And Loki doesn't know how to get to Sif. He's good at upsetting people, but she doesn't react easily."

"Good!" Sif says. "I will leave as soon as I know where I am going, then."

Steve thinks wistfully that this is the first time he's seen someone maneuver a situation so efficiently since he left the army. It's not Tony's _fault,_ but he doesn't exactly maintain military discipline. Not that Steve always followed orders when he got them, but nonetheless, Sif is...sort of a pleasant change of pace.

"I don't know if you have iPhones where you come from, but I can pull up a map for you," Tony says. He waves his phone at Sif. "Well, sort of an iPhone. My modified version."

Sif frowns at him. "Explain," she says.

"He's telling you how clever he is," Bruce explains.

"It's a machine," Steve interrupts. He really doesn't like how often Bruce is rude about Tony. Tony has said they’re friends now, but mostly that seems to mean that Bruce says unpleasant things instead of nothing. "It can be used to communicate, but it can also do things like map journeys."

Tony throws a grateful, slightly twitchy little glance at Steve. "See, this helps. We need Steve and the Asgardians to explain modern American culture to each other. Ha. Anyway, Latveria's a little hard to miss." He clears his throat uncomfortably.

"It is a small nation," Thor says. "But you will see the castle. I have flown over it." He ignores Tony's surprised look.

"Like we said, Doom is a scientist," Bruce says. "He's got a classical bent, too--he likes robots, world domination, and his own ego. If you can avoid anything that looks like him, you should. Getting caught once pretty much means facing an army." He checks with Tony to see if he agrees. "Although," he adds, raising his eyebrow at Thor, "apparently it's _not_ a no-fly zone."

Steve says, "Are you sure she should go alone? Loki is bad enough--from what I understand. But Doom by himself isn't what I'd call a lightweight."

Thor laughs, albeit a little uncomfortably. "Sif is an Asgardian. Any of us should be able to handle a mortal, no matter how powerful." He says it without much feeling, though. He's met powerful mortals, and Doom worries him. He feels a sudden and slightly incongruous wave of concern for Loki.

"Think again," Tony says. "He's a scientist _and_ a sorcerer. He could give any of us a run for our money, and if he's working with Loki, chances are he'll protect him."

"You think we need a team?" Steve asks him.

"I'm happy to join up with anyone who won't get in the way," Sif says, crossing her arms.

"I want to go," Bruce says. Which is a pity. Because he can't. Which is why they're contemplating this venture to begin with.

He feels bad for Thor's brother, but he really isn't sure he likes him at _all._

"No," Thor says, perhaps too quickly. He pauses and puts his arm around Bruce. "I'd rather you didn't. You're still injured. And even if you weren't, he wants to hurt you. I don't want to put you in his path."

"Agreed," Tony says. "But if you want me to go, I will."

That's a surprise.

Bruce says, "I _know_ I can't go. But this isn't meant to end in an engagement, is it? No offense to any of you," he says to Tony, and Steve, and Thor, "but maybe Sif should bring along someone who won't be spotted before they reach Latveria?"

"We could send Natasha," Tony suggests. "She's got training and everything. No, damn it, we probably can't send Russian spies to Latveria. Not that Doom would really care."

"Yes, send the women," Thor says. He wishes he had more tea.

"I don't know," Steve says dubiously.

"I wouldn't send Hank," Bruce says thoughtfully. Hank will just trip over a Doombot while advertising himself seven stories upwards. "But--do you think Jan or Clint could...? If Natasha can't."

"Yes!" Tony says. "Hey, they'd be perfect. No one could possibly be offended by them. I mean, offended, yes, but not _seriously._ Not in a way with consequences. They'll just be bubbly until Doom and Loki beg them to leave." He flashes Bruce a grin. "Brilliant plan. Annoy the enemy. Loki won't mess with us again."

Bruce grins back. "Hoping it won't come to that," he says.

"Clint I have met," Sif says darkly.

"He's good," Bruce says. "I mean. He talks. But not on a job. He’s got my respect on a job."

Steve says, "How big do you want this team, Tony?"

Tony inclines his head toward Steve a little. "Not big. We need to be subtle, but I also want whoever goes to have backup in case this goes badly. I vote we send Jan with Sif. I'm not sure we need to stir Loki up at the moment, and Clint might do that."

Sif nods. "Very well. I would like to meet with this Jan before we depart. Otherwise there seems little else to do."

"Good," Thor says. "I think you will like her. She is...friendly. We should 'call' her. With our phones."

Bruce stares at him. "Good god," he says.

"Maybe we should meet back at the Tower," Steve suggests. "We didn't mean to turn your house into a secondary Avengers base, Bruce."

"No problem," Bruce says, still gazing at Thor with slightly obnoxious wonder.

"Verily," Thor says, just to annoy him.

"Great," Tony says, taking over. "So, clear out, call Jan and the others, meet back at the Tower in thirty?"

"I am invited into your Tower now, correct?" Sif asks. "Is it guarded? Will I need a token?"

"Uh," Tony says. "I'll let JARVIS know you're coming. He's my butler." He grins. "Kind of."

Sif shrugs. "Very well," she says. "But I would prefer to accompany someone else, just the same. Thor? Are you coming, or shall I impose on your friends?"

"Oh, it's not an--," Steve stammers, blushing.

"Impose away," Tony says breezily. "We should give Doctor Banner and his god a little more downtime. I think we've bothered them enough."

Thor may not always approve of Tony's methods, but the intent is appreciated.

"You're sweet," Bruce says, which could sound ironic to someone expecting irony. "I'm sorry I can't help."

"Idiot," says Sif, "you'd kill yourself trying to help, and then where would we be?"

"This," Thor says, "is why Sif is one of my closest companions."

"I can think of a few good reasons," Tony says, but under his breath.

Sif hears him. "I am also one of the most renowned warriors in Asgard," she tells Tony cheerfully. "My bloody victories are recounted in whispers of awe."

"Oh," Tony says. "Well. In that case. That is probably why Thor likes you." He looks a little taken aback.

"Indeed," she says gravely. "Let us go?"

She starts for the door so that the mortals have to catch her up.

"Lie down, Bruce," she says over her shoulder. "And I do not mean with _him."_ Bruce makes a slightly strangled noise and shoots a glance at Thor.

"Er, good afternoon," Steve says. "We'll--let you know how things. Tony?"

"Coming," Tony says, shooting an apologetic grin at Bruce. "Have fun, kids." He sweeps out the door and only slams it a little in his enthusiasm.


	5. victor von doom did not invite these people over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's timing, Doom thinks, could not possibly be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Conversational references to violence.

Jan has to admit that flying into Latveria to bother Doctor Doom and a cranky god doesn't seem like the best idea ever, but she's not about to start complaining about doing it with a hot warrior lady. She tried to communicate Sif's hotness to Natasha during the meeting through eye signals, but it didn't work, and probably wouldn't have gone over well if it had. Oh well, she'll just tell Hank about it later. He probably didn't notice.

"So," she says to Sif, when everyone else has gone away to places that aren't Lateveria, "can you fly? Or are we taking a jet?"

"What," Sif says, "is a jet?"

"Ohhh," Jan says. "Right, you don't have those in Asgard. I can show you a jet. Tony has some with autopilot. That means they fly themselves. Well, that's not what it means, but...Oh yeah, so, they're ships," she adds, in case that helps. "Giant...flying...steeds?" She has no idea what context Asgardians have. Thor doesn't seem to have any.

Sif says, "Perhaps you should show me. Are jets...stealthy?"

"Okay, good point. No." Jan thinks about it. "I mean, I can fly in when I'm little and no one will notice, but it'll be harder to sneak you in. We can always take a jet to the border and then walk, I guess. Or land it in one of the, I don't know, peasant fields or something." She doesn't have a great sense of what Latveria's like, to be fair.

"These Avengers," Sif says. "I sense that Thor must fit in among you very well, since you seem to have no collective head for planning at all."

"I think Tony's kinda good at it," Jan says, a little put out. "But actually, maybe not. He's just really good at making things up as he goes. Anyway, we're gonna get noticed eventually. Doctor Doom has basically every kind of surveillance, I've heard. What a perv, right?" She gives Sif a hopeful smile.

Sif stares at her blankly. "If we cannot go unnoticed, let us at least be innocuous," she says at last. "Perhaps when we _are_ noticed, then, we will have some chance of convincing them we did not come for blood or war. We will fly to the border and leave the...jet...in as inoffensive a place as possible. Much though I would prefer to simply take Loki's foolish head off," she adds.

"My kind of woman," Jan says. Unfortunately true. Alarming women keep turning _up_ in her life. "So, let's get on that. I can't wait to trek through a frozen wasteland and tangle with an insane dictator."

"That," Sif says, "sounds deeply satisfying." It truly does. She hefts up her weapons and says, "Show me this jet."

~

"I wasn't kidding about the frozen part," Jan says. Her teeth haven't stopped chattering since they left the jet. Tony's modified all of their costumes for weather like this, but it doesn't always help. "So, I'm guessing the castle is that way," she says, pointing at the only ominously looming tower on the horizon.

Sif feels the stirrings of nostalgia in her breast. This air smells like some strange mix of Asgard, Jotunheim, and Bruce Banner's shabby mortal house. She feels quite ready to slaughter or drink, as the occasion brings.

"Let us approach, then," she says, "and we shall see how long it takes before something comes along to warm you up--whether a fight or a feast."

"Weirdly sexy," Jan mutters. Sif is like Natasha, only friendly and more...Asgardian. "I'm not sure I'd eat one of Doctor Doom's feasts, anyway. Not that we'll get a chance. He'll probably just shoot at us from the window or something."

"Then I shall fling an axe and split his head," Sif answers cheerily. "Come along! You can ride on my shoulder in your small form if you like. They may take better to it."

"Um," Jan says. "Yeah. Good plan." Okay, Sif is officially _way_ scarier than Natasha. She shrinks down and perches on Sif's shoulder, which doesn't feel as cold as most of Jan does.

"I thank you!" Sif says, and marches her way up towards the gloomy-looking castle. "I admit I am almost interested to meet this Doom."

"He's a psycho," Jan says helpfully. "I mean, pretty seriously unhinged. He thinks he's a genius and going to take over the world." Okay, to be fair, Tony and Bruce are always going on about how Doom _is_ a genius, but Jan doesn't see how anyone who clomps around in a big metal suit talking about how great he is while getting his ass kicked can be _that_ smart. But maybe Tony's a little biased.

"Ah," says Sif. She thinks that this maybe explains what the mortal and Loki might have in common (except for the suit). And there's nothing Loki likes as much as an ego.

"Better than red meat," she mutters, and glances around for any enemies.

"It is _weirdly_ quiet," Jan chatters, mostly out of nerves. "Do you think we should knock? You know, just go up and say, 'Hey, do you have any gods in there?' Probably not. Maybe no one's home." They've been allowed to get worryingly close to the castle, though.

"That's what we always did with Thor," Sif says. "Except he usually finishes with, 'You will answer to me, coward!' or some such thing."

The door flies open.

"Whoops," Jan says. "I think maybe he heard."

Doom stands in the doorway and surveys the two women in his courtyard. Or one woman and one...bug. The latter is an Avenger, and the former, he thinks from her garb, an Asgardian. Curious.

"To what do I owe this...intrusion?" he demands, quietly readying a bolt of magic in one hand.

"Loki," Sif says. "If you have him."

Doom didn't expect that. Even more interesting. "You invade my country to look for Loki? What makes you think I would have anything to do with that witch? And who _are_ you? Wasp, I know. But not you."

Sif quirks a smile. "You do _know_ the 'witch,' then," she says. "But I had not thought he'd made a reputation for himself so quickly. In the past he has taken care not to make any reputation at all." She tilts her head. "Either he has lost more of his mind than I thought, or you are indeed hiding him here."

"With the waves she's created in New York, one hears things," Doom shrugs. "Especially within our...community."

"Um," Jan says. "She?"

Sif waves it aside. "A whim he has sometimes. He's a shapeshifter, you know." To Doom she says, "This is no invasion; a force of two, against what I have been told is a mighty army? I would not be so foolish. It is only a personal errand, and my companion is only that. Never fear; as I understand it, the Avengers have no interest in disturbing you at home."

"But I am at home, and you have disturbed me." He's more amused now than anything else. "Thor's friends come looking for his sibling, then? Is that it?"

"Indeed," Sif says dryly. "And I am far less likely than Thor to cause incident within your borders. As far as I am concerned, Loki can stay where he is. This is no scouting party, Doom, and there will be no attack; only a favor to a friend who will not stop whining unless he knows his erstwhile brother is--as well as he ever was."

"I truly believe you mean that," Doom sighs. He never meant to take in a god with concerned friends and family. "Then you may tell the _mighty_ Thor that his sibling is well. And safe. And need not be disturbed by him and his band of hapless, clumsy, well-meaning fools.”

Sif says coolly, "I will be sure to relay the message exactly. But now--I believe Loki is here, Doom, but I would prefer proof."

"If you desire proof, you may continue to desire it," Doom says testily. "He goes where he pleases. And if it does not please him to see you--" He shrugs.

"Well, tough," Jan says. "We should probably, like, tell him to leave us alone or something, right?"

"Today he seems to be doing so perfectly well without," Sif starts, but the need for that sentiment vanishes as Loki sidles out of nowhere some feet to her left.

He stops dead when he sees her, and then laughs, once and abruptly.

"I suppose that one day all of Asgard will be banished to the mortal realm," he says. He's smiling, but it is like watching sheets of ice scrape together.

"Loki," Sif says. "You were not very nice to that mortal of Thor's."

Loki's timing, Doom thinks, could not possibly be worse. He could have gotten rid of these idiots before they upset Loki.

"Why should he be?" Doom cuts in. "If you gods are so insistent on keeping pet monsters..."

"Ech, this word everyone seems so eager to throw about," Sif says. "It hardly seems worth the bother of saying it, if everyone and his forebears qualify." She turns to Loki. "I suppose it's futile telling you to stop being mad or jealous or whatever it is that's possessed you, but I wish you would. You've gained nothing by your rebellion, and the brother you insist on hurting is your only real ally."

"He is not," Loki snaps. "And I have others."

"What," Jan says, "Doctor _Doom?_ That's the best you've got? I mean, I know you went off the deep end and blew it with your family and everything, but that's nothing compared to what he'll do to you. He's a bad guy. And stupid Thor would probably forgive you if you turned up at the Avengers Tower right now. So, you know. Life choices."

Loki bares his teeth, and reappears front to front with Sif, Jan's wing pressed hard between his fingers. "What," he hisses, "is _this?"_

"I thought you would know," Sif says calmly. "Aren't you hunting down all of your brother's friends now?"

"Ohmygod," Jan says. "I'm an Avenger. Let go of me or I'll get big again and kick your ass."

"Is that so?" Loki purrs. "I suppose it would look better for me if I didn't simply crush you. Then again..." He smiles, and it isn't nice at all. "...I don't have any reputation left to lose." His fingers curl around her body with the slow fascination of a snake.

"Loki," Sif says, "you are very few inches from my sword, and even fewer from my axe."

"Only try," he whispers.

Sif concludes that he really has gone mad.

"Loki," Doom snaps. "Are you really going to waste your time on this pettiness? On these _women?_ If you wish to destroy your brother's friends, there are other ways." Ways that don't involve people very quickly invading his country to rip Loki apart.

Loki's gaze slides slowly back towards Doom. "They did come to _us,_ dearest," he says silkily. He looks sharply back at Jan, who can barely struggle in his grip. "And it would be so satisfying. For that moment."

"Loki," Sif growls, and when he still doesn't move, she swings her axe. She feels it brush his sleeve before he vanishes, and when he reappears at Doom's shoulder, there's a snag in the cloth. She can't tell if he's bleeding.

"I know you're mad, but don't be any more of a fool than you have been already," she tells him.

"Yikes," Jan mutters, fluttering a little before switching back to her regular size.

"Listen to her," Doom says furiously. "I will not have Asgardians warring on my doorstep, Loki." This woman is clearly more dangerous than she looks. And she isn't careful with what she says.

"If you will not reconcile with Thor, then leave him be," Sif says. "You will gain nothing from attacking his friends. Cut off all ties with your brother or come back to him, but do not fret and swipe at him like a child missing his nap."

Doom laughs. "She may be rude and unrefined, but she has a point." Loki's tantrums are clearly something no one but Thor is actually that impressed by. And perhaps the other Avengers.

Sif snorts.

Loki says, "Yes, I am only in a little temper. Never mind me." His voice shakes.

"I never do," Doom says smoothly.

"Um," Jan says. "Just saying, but as a mortal, I think Loki's _little tempers_ are kind of a huge problem. Especially if he already wants to mess with us."

Loki glares, first at her, then at Sif, and not quite at Doom. He smells like magic and looks as though he is about to hurt someone.

"I'm sure you'll decide what's best with me," he snaps. He sweeps inside, and in a few seconds the other three are alone with the lingering sound of a slamming door.

Sif says, "He always was a temperamental child."

Doom smiles. "But he didn't leave," he says, half to himself. He can tell Loki isn't happy with him, but Loki _didn't run away._ That means he can handle whatever Loki throws at him. He's already won.

"Uh, lucky you," Jan says.

From somewhere inside the castle--below the castle? there is a shuddering boom.

"He certainly did not leave," Sif agrees.

" _What?"_ Doom says.

"Yeah," Jan says, "you probably should have thought of that before pissing him off. But I guess he's your problem now. He won't bother the Avengers if he's too busy wrecking your stuff."

"Indeed," says Sif. "I believe for now our mission is complete."

There is a substantial and distant shattering sound.

"Leave my country," Doom says, but he says it while retreating quickly back into his castle. He isn't going to let Loki destroy _everything._

"I think that went very well," Sif says, watching him hurry away as fast as a man in a full suit of armour can hurry.

"I honestly can't tell," Jan says. "I feel like all of you guys have completely different standards from normal people. But at least Loki isn't thinking about _us_ now."

"Not for the moment," Sif says. "And we know, now, more of what he is...like." She turns away, and adds, "Despite what I have said, he was not always like this. I am not--injured by it, as Thor is, but it does me some grief, that this is what my friend's troublesome little brother has become."

"Oh, jeez," Jan says. She pats Sif's shoulder quickly. "I didn't really think of it like that. And I knew it was bad for Thor, but...I don't know, I guess I've been having trouble thinking of Loki as a person."

Sif shrugs. "He's mad, Wasp, but the mad are never _less_ than people. They are only out of reach." She shifts, and takes a step forward. "We should go. The others will want to know we've all survived. Including Doom, for the moment."

Jan nods, feeling really bad and not being totally sure why. "Okay. Let's not tell Thor how upset Loki is, okay? Or, uh, we could warn him. But not...in an upsetting way. Right?"

"I'll talk to him," Sif says. "I have many years of practice. Worry not."

"Awesome," Jan says, relieved. "Let's get out of here."


	6. loki demonstrates the costs of flippancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should be frightened of this raging god in his shattered great hall, but he can only feel concern because Loki is coming apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Loki is crazy.

By the time Doom reenters the castle, Loki has demolished two underground labs, murdered several works of art, and smashed the impressive three-story stained glass window at the end of the great hall. He is no less furious for having done it, but there's a fierce pleasure in destruction. It covers over the question of what will happen if Doom decides this is a bit too much to take.

Doom assesses the damage as he strides through the castle. It is, as he feared, extensive. He's not entirely sure what Loki's reacting to; there are too many things to choose from. In his annoyance at his...guests, he forgot to be careful.

When Doom gets to the great hall, he's truly annoyed. That window was expensive and the man he commissioned it from is no longer alive.

"You _are_ acting like a child," Doom snaps.

"So you've said," Loki says. He is surprised by the rush of near-calm that comes over him when Doom speaks. All that's left is the cold center of his fury and the slightest tremor in his voice.

Doom steps further into the room, glass crunching under his boots. "Does that upset you? Do you expect me to only speak kindly of you?"

"You didn't speak," Loki says flatly. "You laughed."

Doom considers how he himself responds to being laughed at. "Ah."

He kicks a large chunk of blue glass out of the way and risks getting a little closer. "I apologize," he says simply, not sure if that will help.

"It hardly matters," Loki snaps. "She has been laughing at me for most of my life. If I proclaim you my ally only to have you take her side as she diminishes me, what's the hurt?"

Some people, Victor reminds himself, were bullied as children. "I _am_ your ally," he says. "What does it matter what she or anyone else thinks? You care too much for appearances, and for the opinions of your enemies."

In an instant, Loki is wild, his voice rising to a shriek. "This has nothing to do with my enemies, halfwit, fool, _I'm not talking about appearances!"_

"Loki," Doom snaps, closing the gap between them and caring little that Loki is, in this moment as in many others, dangerous. "Loki, stop. Have I not told you that I care for you? Have I not made it clear that I respect you?"

"Very carefully," Loki snaps back. "Oh, very carefully you've made it clear. Never mind that when you don't guard your tongue you forget a woman might be feared or that you are self-proclaimedly a god who keeps his monsters. All it takes is an unexpected guest or two for you to forget your manners, mortal, and then I am an unfit companion. I cannot think," he adds, with a bitter twist of a smile, "what there is left to respect, once your so-ready scorn has burned away all that dreadful tasteless excess."

Doom stops. Then he says, after a moment of silence, "I didn't mean you. When I said _monster._ That, at least, you may believe."

"Sweet consolation," Loki sneers. "I am no more ashamed of being monstrous than of being a woman. _You,_ however, think well neither of these things nor of their keepers, by your own report. I do not need another ally who loves me save anything I am."

" _Stop,"_ Doom says forcefully. "I love all that you are. If I didn't, how could I possibly love myself? We're too much alike. And if I idly insult my enemies with things I half believe, it means nothing to how I feel about you. But if you'd prefer, I can learn to change my insults."

"Perhaps," Loki snarls, "you could only love me enough not to join in when the enemy mocks me, whether or not you think their insults _fitting."_

Victor is unused to his allies being so _sensitive._ Of course, he is mostly unused to having allies.

"I won't laugh, next time," he says softly.

 _"What next time?"_ Loki says furiously. "They know where I am, now, there is no safety in this place. And I feel no inclination to watch you fail and fail again to be any better than everything I have already left. I am weary of this. I am weary of _you."_

Doom stops, feeling as though the conversation has slipped away, skipped several steps ahead without him.

"I see," he forces out through his teeth, but he feels ill. He has broken this, broken it through his own petty thoughtlessness. "Are you leaving me, then?"

" _I don't know,"_ Loki shrieks. "I cannot endure anything, I cannot endure myself, I am only waiting for some catastrophe great enough to _end it,_ and even if it comes I will live again, and again, and again, because we _never stop._ I cannot escape no matter where I go and you just stand there and _look_ at me from behind that damned armour as though there's something I should already know, and I _don't know what it is!"_

Doom swallows hard. He should be frightened of this raging god in his shattered great hall, but he can only feel concern because Loki is coming apart.

"Then I will tell you," he says firmly. He reaches up, almost on a whim, and removes his mask, casting it aside. It shatters a piece of the window even further when it hits the ground.

"I will look you in the eye and tell you the truth," he says. "I will tell you that you're safe here. Even if I say foolish things, you're safe. You're home. Even if you want to die, I don't want that. I won't have it."

"There is nothing good," Loki says. His voice is raw. "There is nothing good in any world. You are not safe. You cannot want me. There is nothing left to want."

"Do you doubt me?" Doom asks, closing the gap between them. "I am not a man to be wrong. I see you, and I want you.'

Loki is lost in himself. He sobs, and gulps (not a god, he's a child and a monster and the child of monsters). He thinks that if Doom touches him he might scream. He can't imagine it not hurting.

"I don't want you to love me," he answers raggedly. He might be pleading. "I wish you would tear me apart."

"My apologies," Doom says. He doesn't reach out to Loki yet. "I cannot. I wanted to, when I first met you. But all I want now is for you to stop crying." He can risk revealing this much of himself. Loki is too shattered to care, or even to notice.

"Oh? Why?" Loki asks, sharp for a moment. He looks like he's about to say something more unpleasant, but then the shutter comes back down over his eyes. He meets Doom's eyes for several long seconds, and then buries his face in his hands. "I am a storm," he says, muffled but audible. "It was meant to be Thor, but I am the storm. I cannot stop."

"I have weathered storms," Doom says gently. "Come here and let me contain yours." He can feel, in this moment, how powerful and old and _massive_ Loki is, the power he contains, but it doesn't matter.

Loki lets out a small sound involuntarily, the sound of a small pain, or one so large that only the least noise can indicate its enormity. "I'll consume you," he says. But he is leaning forward, half tense and half boneless, into Doom's arms.

Doom reaches out. "Many have tried. None have succeeded. If I have not yet consumed _you,_ I think our relationship is more successful than many."

"I am too old and bitter to be of use in any of your experiments," Loki murmurs. His cheek is wet against Doom's cheek, and his hands shake where they rest against Doom's armor.

"Then I suppose I shall have to keep you," Doom whispers. He puts one arm around Loki, palm flat against the small of Loki's back. "For as long as you happen to live. I hear it's expected to be quite a long time."

"You're a fool," Loki says. "I cannot do anything for you. You will not want this, in the end."

"Give me a chance to prove you wrong," Doom mutters. "You have done much for me already." He is glad Loki is teary and shaking, or his own honesty and his exposed face would be much more upsetting.

"I've ruined your window," Loki answers. There's a pause. "And one or two of your experiments."

Doom grits his teeth. "I'll see how angry I am about that when I see which _ones."_ His hand tightens on Loki's back. "I can repair that damage."

"You deserved it, anyway," Loki says.

Doom laughs. "You know, there is literally no one else on earth I would allow to get away with that. But for you, I am apologetic."

"It's not me," Loki says, subdued but not breaking. "That is your honour, Victor, recoiling in horror that you could think an ally one who lends a weapon rather than one who keeps faith."

Doom pauses. "Well. Yes. You know me too well. But in defense of my strong feelings for you, I've eventually tried to kill every other ally I've had. When they proved unworthy of my faith."

Loki takes a breath to answer, but he lets it out again without a sound and leans against Doom's weight. After a moment he tilts his face upwards to (lightly) kiss Doom's scars.

"That is well," he says. "You may try as often as you like."

Doom tries not to flinch from Loki's kiss. "Mm. I'll take you up on that promise." He isn't sure how much he means it. He pulls away a little and regards Loki. "Well? Are you done with destroying my castle?"

Loki snorts. "Is the beast appeased, you mean, and have you rescued the remainder of your precious tapestries?"

"Naturally that was my first concern," Victor says lightly. He reaches out and strokes Loki's hair, half caress and half a motion one might use to quiet an animal.

Loki flings himself backwards, almost noiselessly, out of Doom's grip. "Naturally," he agrees, suddenly several feet beyond Doom's grasp. " _Naturally."_

"What?" Doom mutters. Louder, he says, "It was a _joke,_ you infuriating little witch." He realizes, too late, that it was the wrong time for such a joke.

Loki smiles horrendously. "At least when I'm infuriating," he says, "you have to pay attention."

"That doesn't--" Doom starts. Then he says, "Wait, go back."

"What?" Loki snaps. "Where?"

"I mean." He pauses. "I mean, I think I've missed why you blew up my lab." He feels like the stupidest genius alive.

"It doesn't matter," Loki says, but he's casting his eyes across the glass-strewn floor as though he's looking for mines. "It doesn't matter at all."

"If it didn't _matter,"_ Doom snarls, "I wouldn't have you in my home at all. In _our_ home. But you weren't entirely honest about why you were angry." _You are sleeping with a god of lies,_ he reminds himself.

"Yes I was," Loki hisses.

"Are you ever?" Doom stalks forward a few paces. "But now I've caught you. I won't let you hide anything away from me until it eats you and you let yourself hate me." He stops and crosses his arms. "Well?"

"I _was,"_ Loki shouts. His eyes are large and bright with tears. "I was, I told you I-- _Damn you,_ Victor, you pretend to be unique in the universe, but you're blind, just as blind as every other creature alive. It doesn't matter whether I am a liar or not, because I can scream the truth before all the worlds together, and in all the worlds together _there is no one who would believe me."_

Doom takes a deep breath. "No? Give me time. Give me the proof that trusting you will not make me a fool or a dead man. Then I will believe you, Loki. I swear it. And Doom keeps his promises."

"How much is time worth," Loki asks coldly, "if you'll never mind me anyway?"

"Ah," Doom says. "Loki." He clears his throat. "I was showing off."

Loki's expression is ugly. "'You care too much for appearances, and the opinions of your enemies,' " he says quietly, not throwing Victor's words back at him so much as laying them out dead at his feet. "What sort of excuse is that for confiding in his enemies that your partner, your ally, your _lover,"_ he sneers the last word, "is completely without consequence?"

"I have...wronged you," Doom says softly. "My honor matters little if I neglect it. It's not often that I make mistakes, but I have done so today."

"What's your trespass?" Loki asks. "Over-honesty? A poorly chosen audience for your revelations? Forgetting to play along with my delusions of grandeur?"

"You think I meant it?" Victor snaps. "Understand this: I do not humor people. I won't lie to you or for you. Why should I? What would I gain? And I do _not_ sleep with people I don't respect."

"Not even when they might carry the key to your precious immortality?" Loki asks sweetly. "You needn't mind a few tantrums if everlasting life lies at the other end."

"You think me that pathetic?" Doom begins to close the gap between them again. "Doom does not placate, not even for a prize. If I wanted it that badly, I'd unlock your secrets by force. But that is _not_ why I keep you here."

"I thought I knew why you keep me," Loki snaps, but he isn't as angry as he is frightened. "I thought you paid attention and still found me...interesting. I didn't know it would be so easy to--" _to stop protecting me,_ is what he means, but he can't say it, nothing can make him say it. He will lose this fight, somehow, because he cannot ask to be safe.

"Whatever you think I've done," Doom says softly, "you're wrong. I told a stupid lie so our enemies wouldn't see me as the pet monster of a god. Do you understand?"

"No Asgardian," Loki says, voice uneven, "would ever make such an assumption. I am a beggar, a whore, a flatterer. Where do I ever belong except at someone else's feet?"

"Your mistake," Doom says, grabbing Loki's wrist, "is in thinking _I_ am anything like an Asgardian." He squeezes hard, digging his fingers in.

"Where do _you_ think I belong?" Loki asks. When he blinks, it jars his tears loose, but they fall and sink into the cloth of his coat. He doesn't try to pull away from Victor's grip.

Victor doesn't loosen his grip, but he stops using his nails. "You belong where I've placed you. At my side."

Loki is still and silent for long seconds before he says, barely breathing, "Do you still see me, Victor, when you are not placating me away from destroying your possessions?"

"I do not keep things only to placate them," he replies. "I see you when I would rather not. I see you all the time."

"Oh," Loki says. He is tremendously tired all at once. "Victor, I want to go to bed."

Doom sweeps Loki into his arms almost effortlessly. "Then I will take you there. I had some work to do, but I sense that you've destroyed it. So I might as well join you."

"Yes," Loki says, which means a number of things, but he doesn't bother to clarify.

Doom kisses the side of Loki's face. "Come, then. I'll assess the damage in the morning." He mostly means his castle. The rest of the damage, he thinks, is already set to healing.

"I can fix it in the morning," Loki says carelessly, but his hand catches Victor's, and holds it too tightly to be snug or reassuring.


	7. jan delivers a clue to hank pym

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By now he's completely perplexed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Hank is not sensitive to queer issues either.

When they get back from Latveria, Jan shakes off feeling like she probably almost died and dances into Hank's lab. "HI," she says loudly, so he can't ignore her. Without waiting for an answer, she adds, "So, gods are completely insane."

Hank frowns sadly at the slide he ruined when Jan's voice startled him, and says, "Organized religion has a lot to offer some people, Jan."

"You're a complete drip," Jan says. She comes over and sits on his lab table. "I'm talking about Loki. You know, complete headcase, Thor's brother, hates Bruce, probably banging Doctor Doom? Yeah."

Hank shakes his head like that will put everything Jan just said into a rational order. "What? I mean, I know who Loki is, but why should he hate Bruce? And I really don't think he's," Hank flushes, "er, _banging_ Doctor Doom. I know this might disappoint you, but I don't think Avengers business is likely to live up to your taste in tabloids."

Jan crosses her arms and regards him critically. "Oh my god. We don't tell you anything, do we? All of that stuff _happened._ For real. Like, in the past couple days."

"What stuff?" Hank says. By now he's completely perplexed.

Jan kicks his desk with her heel. "Uh, all of it. Loki attacked Bruce 'cause he was jealous of him and Thor or whatever, so Natasha and I went to Latveria to make sure Loki doesn't attack Tony or Steve, and Loki tried to kill me and he and Doom got in a fight."

"You went on a mission? To fight _Doom?_ And you didn't think I'd want to come along?" Hank's a little hurt by that, so it takes him longer to say, "Why would Loki be jealous of Bruce? I mean, Thor I understand, but Bruce? There's not all that much to be jealous of, you know?"

Jan stares at him. Okay, she's got to start telling him stuff just so it doesn't take her thirty years to intro a conversation. "You know, because Thor and Bruce are _dating?_ Hank, half the team's banging by now." She says _banging_ again just to bug him.

" _Whaaat?"_ Hank says incredulously. "I can see Bruce being a little--you know. But Thor? I'd expect him to have every girl in Asgard hanging off him." He grins hopefully. Sometimes Jan makes jokes! And he can't think of anybody else on the team who could possibly be dating.

Jan rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I'll bet they _were_ hanging off him. Doesn't mean he was hanging off them. C'mon, open your mind just a tiny bit. Buff guys can be into other guys." Actually, she thinks, everyone on the team is pretty buff. Well, except Bruce.

"Ha ha," Hank laughs awkwardly. "So, Thor and Banner, eh? Who else has hooked up, you and Clint?"

Jan stares at him. "You really suck at gossip. Like, really. As if I'd date Clint." She has pretty awful taste in guy friends, clearly, so she thinks Clint is great, but not like that. "You're really telling me you didn't know about Tony and Cap?" Not that she's shocked.

Hank stares openmouthed. "Hah," he says. "Now I know you're teasing me. Oh, Hank, you didn't notice you were joining the YMCA, did you?"

"Ew," Jan says, wrinkling her nose. "You're gross. Come on, you must have at least known Tony was a big ol' queer, right? Everyone knows that. Because, ha, he's always hitting on men." It's a weak joke, but whatever. Hank's being a pain. Jan's pretty sure he should know about how she's into the ladies, but she's also pretty sure he hasn't necessarily noticed.

"Yes, I knew that," he says. "I'm only saying--well, listen Jan, I don't have a lot of friends who are gay--or...I didn't, or...but you're, ah, you're dropping a lot of information on me at once, you know. I'll need a minute to process, just like any computer."

"Ha ha," Jan says. "Too true to be funny, cyborg Hank. It's not a huge deal." She kicks his desk harder.

"Hey," Hank says, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything. Come on, Janet, how did you feel when you found out all this stuff about everybody?"

"I just did," she says, staring at him. "Like, the other day." It was kind of funny about Tony and Steve, but only because _Captain America._

"And it's all fine with you?" he asks, and then sighs. "Of course it is. Well, never mind. What's all this stuff about Loki?"

At least he moves on fast. "He's pissed off at Thor for paying attention to other people," she says, shrugging. "That's what I got, anyway. He attacked Bruce." They, uh, probably should have told Hank that.

"Attacked?" Hanks says sharply, leaning forward in his chair. "He's all right, isn't he? I assume you would have bothered to mention it to me if he were dead, or if anything happened with the Hulk."

"Oh, jeez," Jan says. "Of course we would." She pats his arm. "He's fine. He just hurt his arm. But Natasha and I went to find out where Loki was staying to head him off before he said mean stuff to someone else."

"Mean stuff?" Hank says. "Yes, I suppose mythologically Loki's strengths were always verbal manipulation and magic. From what I hear, the real version holds pretty true to that. So you found him with Doom? Not--indisposed, I hope."

Jan giggles, then stops. "Uh. Nope. I mean, I don't know. You know Loki." Which, whoa, apparently he does. That could be useful.

Hank frowns. "To be honest, all I know on that count is that he manages to get in a lot of awkward situations with, er, pregnancy. In the stories, at least." He brightens. "I hear that Odin really does ride Sleipnir! I have no idea if that's really Loki's child or not, though."

Jan's eyebrows go way up. She didn't know any of that stuff. "There is nothing about that that isn't super bizarre," she says. "God, no wonder he's so crazy. Poor kid." She realizes she's just called Loki a poor kid.

Hank raises his eyebrows. "How crazy is crazy?" he asks. Now he _really_ wishes he'd been invited on the mission, but it sounds like good odds they'll be seeing him again soon.

"Um," Jan says. "Like, almost crushing me and then blowing Doctor Doom's experiments up 'cause he said a couple dick things? You know, like that." To be fair, they were _seriously_ dick things. She'd have been pissed, too.

"Are _you_ all right?" he asks, alarmed. Jan is always so nonchalant about these things, it's hard to tell from her stories whether she was really in danger or not.

"Yeah." She kicks her feet, not against his desk this time. It's cute how he actually cares when he pays attention for a second. "I nearly wasn't, though, I think. I should tell Natasha that part."

"Has she not been briefed yet?" Hank asks. It's nice to think _someone_ is as out of the loop as he is...even if it's surprising that Natasha would ever miss anything that goes on.

"She hasn't debriefed me," Jan says, grinning. Ha ha. She's even wearing briefs right now. So, perfect.

"Er," says Hank. "I'd think that was Tony's job."

"Ew," Jan says automatically. "Tony." Then she sighs and pats Hank on the head. "You're too cute, Hank. What goes on in that sciencey little head of yours? Besides useful Norse god information."

"Jan," Hank says reproachfully. "A lot of things go on in my head. Usually about ten million ants at a time, for one! And a lot of exciting projects. And, right now, I'm coming up with a ray that will--"

"NO," Jan says loudly, the way you tell a large, anxious dog no. "I wasn't even asking. Well, kind of, but not--ugh, never mind. You need to get laid." Everyone on the team is taken, though. She'll work on it.

"Jan!" Hank says again, choking. "I really don't think that's--I'm not interested, if you're asking, and if you're not asking, I'm not interested in anything you might be cooking up!"

Jan grins and hugs him quickly. "I love you, dumbass. I wasn't offering. I just think you need to get out of your own head every once in a while. Even ants get boring, right?" As far as she can see, ants are always boring.

"I'm not unhappy!" Hank says. "Just because I don't want whatever it is that apparently everybody else wants, including crazy gods, I guess, doesn't mean there's something wrong with me. The ants don't get boring," he adds.

Jan nudges him with her toe. "I didn't mean there was something wrong with you, you know. Seriously. Sorry, I just get enthusiastic. Dating and dating gossip is, like, the ten percent of my life that isn't fighting crime."

Hank smiles. "Fair enough," he says. "So, about the part of _my_ life that's fighting crime. Do you think maybe you could get Tony and the others to let me know when crazy gods with vendettas start attacking us, and we travel illegally to foreign countries to dig up their rulers' houseguests, and everyone starts sleeping with everyone else?"

"Is that last part related to crime?" Jan teases. "But okay, I will. Sorry. I think Tony has a lot going on right now. I gathered he had some kind of huge meltdown, or Steve did, or something. I don't know, Natasha sucks at details."

Hank sighs. "You keep mentioning Natasha," he says.

"Natasha," Jan says again, helpfully.

"Yes," Hank agrees resignedly. "Just say it."

"Girlfriend?" Jan asks. "Or banging?"

Hank winces. "The first part was really all I was going for," he says.

Jan hops off the desk. "It's kind of a secret, though. I mean, she's really quiet about stuff. Most of them are, I guess, which is kind of weird for Tony and I guess normal for everyone else. Given that we're, you know, pretty public. But you're my best friend, so whatever."

"Ah," Hank says. He feels his face heat. "I will return the favor everybody has done me and not mention it to anybody." He smiles to show her it's all right and he hasn't taken offense.

Jan grins and hugs him again, more tightly this time. "You really are a good guy, even if you're kind of a dick. I'll see you later, okay? I have to talk to Natasha."

"Sure, sure," Hank says. "I have to talk to my ants."

"Tell me you're kidding," Jan says, and she retreats before he can answer.


	8. natasha rewards jan for not being dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are very important," Natasha says. "Don't die in some stupid way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: explicit consensual cis lady sex!

Jan tracks Natasha down in the gym. It doesn't take her that long to guess that's where Natasha will be, so clearly Jan is getting the hang of this. She kicks off her street shoes and treks over to where Natasha is working out.

Natasha eyes Jan and extracts herself from the machine she's at. "Good," she says. "You are alive still and you can spot me, so I will bench press."

Jan laughs. "I can tell you were worried. Just so you know, Loki nearly crushed me like a bug. A wasp bug." She eyes the weights warily. She's actually still feeling a little shaky. Which would be why she's been buzzing around bothering everyone she knows.

Natasha, who has her hands on a pair of weights to fit on the bar, sets them on the bench and steals the space between herself and Jan. The hand on Jan's shoulder could be several kinds of threat or warning.

"How close?" Natasha asks.

"Oof," Jan says. She likes it when Natasha gets all intense, but mostly she feels bad for scaring her. "I thought he was going to do it," she says quietly. "He had his hands right there, and I don't know if I could have gotten big fast enough, or if it would have mattered. I--yeah." She gives a little shrug-shiver and smiles.

Natasha does not smile back. She puts her hand in Jan's hair and tightens her grip. She says, "I do not know if I could kill him for you, if he did that and you died. That I could not get revenge is--not a good thought."

Jan swallows, feeling very tiny, which--haha, not going to think about that, because it's silly. She blinks hard a couple of times. "I'm _okay,"_ she says. "I'm careful. And Sif was with me." She sidles a little closer. "Really."

"If Sif failed you," Natasha says, "I would kill _her._ In this, I have confidence." She's very close to Jan, but too taut with sudden, unexpected fear to do anything but tighten her fingers in Jan's hair.

"Ow," Jan says in her littlest voice. But she doesn't really mind. Having Natasha on her side, having Natasha be _hers,_ is the biggest, scariest thing in the world. She loves it.

"I came back," she says. "I came back okay."

"Good," Natasha says shortly, and then she is able to be gentle again. She catches Jan's face in her hands and kisses her until Jan moans in the back of her throat.

"You are very important," Natasha says. "Don't die in some stupid way."

"Fuck," Jan says a little hoarsely. "Noted, commander." She nuzzles Natasha, not wanting to be far away again. "I promise if you promise."

"Silly deaths, I always do my best to avoid," Natasha says. "I despise being silly." She steps over the bench so that she and Jan are on the same side of it and drags her close, her hands tight on Jan's hips.

"Hn," Jan says, which isn't...a word. She was trying to think of a clever response when Natasha did that _thing_ with the _hands._ Jan reaches up and cups Natasha's face in her hands, scraping her nails lightly over the skin above Natasha's ears.  
Natasha's eyes fall shut, and she swallows to prevent herself from making any unwary noises. This is _not_ her quarters. "I suppose this means you will not spot me," she says.

"Nope," Jan says brightly. "No spotting today." She leans in and kisses Natasha firmly to clarify the point.

"Then let go of me and we will go to my bed," Natasha says, and then raises one eyebrow. "Or your bed. Or a wall. Or whatever you think is perhaps the best."

"Oh, you are _full_ of sexy words," Jan says. "For the strong, silent type, you do okay. Your room. Which has walls. In case we want walls." It's a good thing Natasha likes babbling, Jan thinks happily.

"My room," Natasha agrees, and she leads Jan out of the weight room by the hand, which, for once, she doesn't relinquish at the first chance anyone might see.

Jan squeezes Natasha's hand in hers until they reach her room, when she has to let go to mess with the stupid keycard. They never work right. Especially when someone is in a hurry. She finally gets it, though, and she herds them both inside.

Natasha grips her arms almost immediately. "I cannot explain," she says, "how much I hate someone who makes you look afraid."

Jan doesn't know how to comfort someone like Natasha, or she didn't. She thinks maybe she's learned how to do it now, at least a little.

"I know," she says. "I get that. It's okay." The words aren't the point, though. The point is being here, doing this.

Natasha pushes her against the wall, but carefully.

"That is fortunate," Natasha says, "for many reasons." Her knee nudges between Jan's legs.

"Hnnn," Jan agrees inarticulately, spreading her legs a little. "Next time, let's not do dangerous situations without each other. Is that a deal?" She blinks her eyes hugely at Natasha.

"We'll see," Natasha says, but she puts her hands tight on Jan's waist and bites at her neck with protective ferocity.

"Ohmygod," Jan says, too fast and stupid-sounding. She presses one palm flat against Natasha's stomach and digs her nails in a little. Okay, there's fabric in the way. She pushes it up.

Natasha leans hard against her, and raises her mouth to kiss Jan's. She presses hard enough to feel Jan's teeth against her lips, and forces her tongue against Jan's before she's been invited.

Jan opens her mouth and lets Natasha kiss her, taking the opportunity to get her other hand under Natasha's shirt. Touching Natasha's skin seems really important, and she's not going to lose the sex fight. Maybe some people don't have sex fights, she thinks.

Natasha pushes back by grabbing Jan's arm again and shoving her again the wall, but she backs off and says, "If you are playing with it so much, just take it off."

"Bossy," Jan mutters grumpy, but she does as Natasha says. While she's at it, she loses her own shirt. "Better?" she asks, snapping Natasha's bra strap childishly.

Natasha growls and shoves her back again, and then catches her mouth in a fierce kiss that's more teeth than lips.

Jan reacts by wrapping one leg around Natasha's waist. "See? Flexible. Beat that," she mutters against Natasha's mouth, but she's so busy kissing her that the words get lost.

Natasha reaches back and yanks Jan's leg higher, higher than it can comfortably go. She splays her other hand against Jan's chest and throat and pins her. "Do you want me to get you off?" she asks. "Or perhaps you want me to hold you very still where you cannot touch while you try so hard to outdo me."

"Shit, god, yes," Jan says. Then, because, whoops, clarifying is important, "Get me off, preferably."

"Hm," Natasha says. She slides her hand down (up? very confusing language) Jan's thigh, up her skirt and against her ass. She is so pleasantly soft.

Natasha slides her other hand down between Jan's breasts and lets it rest there.

"There are many things I can do with a bra," Natasha says, "but I would rather do what I can do without one. Take it off."

Jan makes a squeaky noise, but she unhooks her bra on the first try. Totally not intimidated by her sexy Russian girlfriend.

"You're getting paid back so hard for this," she warns Natasha, but it's really the opposite of a warning.

Natasha grins, and runs her hand over Jan's breast, and digs her claws in. "You will want to pay me very well," she says, and dips her head to suck at Jan's nipple. Jan keens and throws her head back against the wall, her hands scrabbling to find any part of Natasha.

"Fuck, you're so fucking good, gonna give you everything, god, you're fucking crazy." She talks a lot of shit in bed when she starts getting wound up, usually to little effect, but it makes her feel great.

"Give me, then," Natasha mutters roughly. She drops Jan's leg and reaches up her skirt to pull down her underwear. She leaves it dangling around Jan's ankles.

"Ask me again," she says.

"Get me off, get me off," Jan chants, spreading her legs as far as she can while still wearing the skirt. "Damn it, Natasha." She's grinning, though.

"Good girl," Natasha says, cupping her, and slides her fingers inside without anymore preamble. She doesn't believe in long introductions and more than she believes in long goodbyes.

The first time Natasha did that, it was startling. This time, it still is. But it's _good._ Jan cries out and pushes down against Natasha's fingers, pushing her hands against the wall to hold herself up. She fucks herself on Natasha's fingers, and Natasha presses her thumb against Jan's clit.

"Get yourself off," she orders. "On me." She strokes Jan's chest with her free hand.  
Jan whimpers loudly and rolls her hips, pushing for friction.

"C'mon, c'mon," she mutters. "Oh, yeah, yeah, gonna take it, take everything, give it to me, yeah." She bites her lip as the angle of Natasha's fingers changes to _just right._

Natasha growls again and bends down. She bites at the skin below Jan's ribs and crooks her fingers hard at the same moment.

Jan screams. "Fuck, again, that," she half sobs.

Natasha lurches so that Jan is knocked against the wall. She strokes roughly over Jan's clit, and twists her fingers in a way that's not _exactly_ what Jan asked for, but it always does the trick.

"Oh, _Jesus,"_ Jan shouts, and then she's coming and clutching at the wall to avoid falling.

Natasha straightens up and holds Jan up against the wall, her whole body the crutch.

"Good girl," she whispers. "Good girl." She doesn't pull her fingers out until Jan has stopped jerking and tightening around her.

"Ohh." Jan presses her face against Natasha. It's also a little different and always so, so good. "Thanks. Think I needed that. You want...stuff?" She's sluggish and sleepy and her legs are shaking.

"Oh yes," Natasha says. "I want to put you here in my bed with none of your clothes on." She reaches for the zipper on Jan's skirt, and stoops to pull it off with her underwear.

She stands up and says, "I want to put you here between my blankets, and when you wake up, _then_ you fuck me. Yes?"

"Oh, I'm not getting rid of you," Jan says under her breath. She stumbles a little getting into bed. "Thanks. For, like, all of it." The sincere parts, she's bad at, but she thinks she gets enough of it across non-verbally. That's what Natasha's best at, anyway.

"Shh," Natasha says, tucking her in. "You pay me back. When you wake up, you fuck me, and today, you didn’t die. This is good."

"This is good," Jan repeats sleepily. She loves how sometimes sex makes Natasha lose some of her English. It's really hot. "See ya soon."

"I will," Natasha says, which she means vehemently, but there's no point in saying more, least of all when Jan is asleep.


	9. sif informs thor it is not so well with loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sif says, "I was not kind to him when we were young."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Sif convinces Tony, after her debriefing with Jan, that it would be better if she goes and talks to Thor alone before Tony tells anybody else what happened in Latveria. He agrees, which is good, because it means she does not have to be violent to Thor's war leader--not that he seems much like what she thinks of as a war leader.

She reenters Bruce and Thor's house without permission, and calls out, "If you are unclothed you may know that I am here and act according to your wishes, so long as they involve trousers by the time I see you."

Thor, who was dozing shirtless but otherwise clothed in bed next to Bruce, struggles the rest of the way upright when he hears Sif. "Shh," he mutters to Bruce, hoping the shouting hasn't woken him. He still needs rest.

Thor shuts the door gently behind himself and goes out to greet Sif.

"You've returned," he says softly.

"I have," Sif says. "Loki is in Doom's country after all."

Thor nods. That could still mean anything. "You spoke to him? Was he . . . well?" Thor already knows the answer to that, but he still has to ask. Every time. "Are _you_ well?" he adds, too late.

Sif waves the last aside. "I am unharmed," she says. But then she meets his eyes with a look that doesn't lie to him. "He snatched your comrade out of the air and would have crushed her to death had I not stayed him. He is not well, Thor. The fall has not cured his madness."

Thor...knew this. How could he not? But hearing it, and hearing it from _Sif,_ hurts much more. "I do not know how to help him," he says. His voice comes out hoarse and thick, but he has no room for shame at this moment. "I do not know if I should be _trying."_

Sif shakes her head. "I know that you love him," she says, "but if he loves you any longer, Thor, it is so lost beneath his anger that his love might kill you in its expression." She tilts her chin up to look at the low ceilings of this mortal house. "I remember when you were children, he was always the first to cause trouble and the last to do harm."

Thor clenches his fists helplessly. Everything feels wrong. He feels as though instead of being here with Bruce, here in _their house,_ safe and sane, he should be raging back to Asgard to demand that someone help him save his little brother.

"He was driven to this," Thor whispers.

Sif says, "By whom? He is not a child, Thor, and at some time evil must be the fault of its maker."

"Evil?" Thor slaps the counter harder than he means to. "I can't bring myself to call him that. He was lied to his whole life, and the shock nearly killed him. I hardly blame him. If my Father..." He has to stop, choked by anger.

"I did not say he was evil," Sif says calmly, "although it is becoming more difficult to tell. But he has allied himself with an evil man, certainly, and his malice and his madness are overwhelming any just cause he may have. Or do you forget what your dear brother did to the man you love? From spite, Thor, and not because he couldn't have killed him."

"Don't think I wouldn't do anything to defend Bruce," Thor says quickly, not even sure who he's angry at anymore. "I would do _everything._ Even do battle with my brother. But I cannot give up on Loki. I cannot _fail_ him. No more than I already have."

Sif says, "I would not be stupid enough to ask you for that." She sighs. "I do not think he is happy, Thor. I do not know if even _he_ thinks revenge will make him whole again. He is not whole now."

Thor swallows and asks. "Do you think he will ever be whole again?" The fear that's been growing in his mind since their battle on the Bifrost finally exists outside his head.

Sif hesitates. "If he becomes so," she says at last, "I think it may as close to kill him as falling in the first place."

Thor scrubs a hand over his face. He knows his brother. He knows Sif is right. "I'm so afraid for him," he admits. "But I hate what he's doing."

Sif says, "I was not kind to him when we were young." She turns her face to look out the window. "I regret it now, because I grieve for that child and I did nothing to save him. Perhaps if I'd been less clever and more kind, I could have given him strength to go only a little less astray."

Thor reaches out and grabs her hand, because he must. "Thank you," he says forcefully. "For...for not allowing me to be the only one who could have aided him." There are huge wrongs against Loki that will always be Thor's and only Thor's, but it helps to be reminded that he's not the only one.

Sif laughs. "None of us could bear him," she says. "He ruined all our fun, didn't he? He was the only one of us who didn't treat the life of an immortal like a game without penalties. Not for all his pranks."

Thor laughs unhappily. "Quite. And now...But no matter. I will do what needs to be done to protect my friends. Do you think he will come after them?" He thinks most of them could handle it, if Loki doesn't try to kill them. Most of them.

"I think," Sif says slowly, "that Loki blames you as much--as you blame yourself. I think when his pride has recovered from Bruce, he will try again with someone else." She pauses. "Once he's done wreaking havoc in his new home, that is."

That last only makes Thor feel worse. He dislikes feeling that Loki is unsafe, although perhaps that's a foolish thought. Doom is still a mortal. "Mm. Then I shall warn them as best I can of his tactics." He wishes his friends were not so easily wounded.

"When has he ever had tactics?" Sif says. "He plays a long game, Thor, and not frequently so much out in the open. I don't think his clever plots are what they used to be."

Loki out of control scares Thor more than anything else could. He shudders. "Ah. I feared it was so. Sif, I...What can I do but destroy him? I will not end things that way, but what else can I do? He'll destroy my friends and then himself."

"What do you hope for?" Sif asks. "Do you hope to restore your brother to yourself or simply to keep him alive and well? For all I know the first is impossible and the second best achieved by leaving him where he is. For all I know, the mortal he is staying with occasionally does _not_ drive him to destruction."

Thor unclenches the hand that's been balled into a fist long and hard enough to turn the knuckles white. He lets out a breath. "Do you think so?" he asks. He will take any sort of hope that's offered.

"They fought, when we were there," Sif admits. "But the mortal seemed unafraid. And not--immediately likely to harm him."

Thor laughs. "Unafraid? Then perhaps there is hope after all. Doom may be mad, but then, so is Loki." He clears his throat. "I want to know he is looked after," he says. "And I want my friends left alone, of course. I think I can at least achieve one of the two."

"You do so," Sif says. She adds, "I do not think you need worry about slaying your little brother just yet. But please don't let anything I've said blind you. He is so angry, Thor. He is so little what he was. I do not promise you can save him by any means, in any way."

Thor nods, cold to the core and wishing he'd at least put on a t-shirt. "I...I know. I saw how he was before he fell. I saw what he did to Bruce. I have no illusions there. But I have hope."

"Ah, well," Sif says. "That I would not wish to take from you. You should be a very poor Thor if you did not put hope in foolish causes." She says it affectionately, hopeful for herself that some of her cynicism is dampened in it.

Thor smiles. "You are a truly a good friend, Sif. I'm grateful for your coming here. I think my friends and I will be all right now, as long as they do not do anything foolish." He means if and when Loki shows up, but he always means in general.

"I like it here," Sif says decidedly. "If only my three idiot companions could be coerced to Midgard as well, I think I could call myself content. I suppose you are worried that your father will punish me if I stay too long, however?"

He nods. He hadn't forgotten. "Yes. I sometimes wish he would fall into the Odinsleep more permanently." It's not nice, but he's not feeling kindly toward his father at the moment, not for any reason.

Sif doesn't reply for a long time. "And who would be king then?" she says at last.

Thor snorts. "I know not. Perhaps Tyr. He would start a war even faster than I tried to. Or worse, Balder."

"Don't say such things aloud!" Sif says. "You never know what the Allfather will do. He has such poor taste in heirs."

Thor laughs, only a little bitterly. "So it would seem. He should have had more in reserve to replace his two eldest failures."

"The Allfather is perhaps not father of quite enough?" Sif suggests, grinning.

Now Thor's laugh is pure delight. "Oh, I have missed you. If I cannot return home at the moment, you and the Warriors Three must visit me here more often. Never mind the consequences." He would like for Bruce to meet his other friends.

"I never do," Sif says. "Is that not what I have been telling you?"

"Then I am thankful for you." He grips her arm hard. "Go safely, friend. I will tell Bruce goodbye for you."

"I thank you. Tell him I shall return when I can, for his company is too good to waste." She gets up and grabs Thor in an embrace.

Thor holds her tightly for a long moment before releasing her. Sif liking Bruce means more than he can say.

"Farewell," he says, raising his hand to her. He hopes Bruce managed to sleep through his absence.

"Farewell," she says. "And don't forget to let me know if any of us can help you with Loki, no matter what that might mean."

Thor nods and turns to reenter the bedroom without answering. He will ask for help if he needs it, but he hopes he does not. He hopes the Avengers are enough, in whatever way.

Sif takes her leave, and thinks how pleasant it will be to _walk_ back to the Bifrost portal Thor brought her from.


	10. being loki complicates otherwise pleasant sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shifts away from Loki for long enough to discard his own pants, in fairness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: explicit consensual cis m/m sex, and Loki is still crazy

Doom wakes up all at once, feeling as though--Ah. Someone _is_ watching him. Doom is still unused to waking with Loki in his bed, and he isn't sure he's ever caught the god sleeping. 

"What do you want?" he mumbles, annoyed when his voice comes out rough with sleep.

Loki is watching him with his head cocked, selecting a direction of attack. He blinks when he decides, and says, "What is the machine that isn't ready yet?"

"What?" Doom says, still only half awake. He has so many machines. Then he remembers. " _Oh,"_ he says. "I'm not telling you that."

Loki half-blinks again, like a cat, and then smiles. "This, Victor, is why you can't be allowed to wake up first. I hate to think what you would do if I ever let you."

Doom laughs and pulls himself into a sitting position. "I might say the same. But you needn't worry. I told you. It's not ready." He's covering--badly, he thinks--for his concern over how _vulnerable_ he lets himself become at night. He needs his armor. His fingers twitch with the need to find his mask.

"And when it _is?"_ Loki purrs, shifting his weight so that, with a minimum of movement, he is suddenly very close, and looming much larger than he should for being smaller than Doom.

Doom doesn't pull back. "When it is, I'll make sure I have nothing to fear from you ever again. Least of all being stared at in my sleep." He wonders how serious Loki thinks he is about this machine. He wonders how serious _he_ is.

Loki stifles his annoyance before it can do more than flash through his eyes. "Surely that is already the case, Victor," he says in a tone of guileless surprise. "You're careful. You wouldn't let me so close if you thought I'd really ever hurt you."

"No matter what my answer, it makes me a fool." Doom rests his head back against the headboard, exposing his throat. What does it matter, when Loki could snap his neck either way.

Loki laughs. "You've taken me in," he says. "I think your actions have spoken before your words had a chance to betray you."

"You worry me," Doom says lightly. He meets Loki's eyes. "You seem in better spirits than yesterday. Perhaps this morning will be better than last night."

"In what...specific...way?" Loki smirks. The expression fails around the corner of his mouth, but only there. He is in control. This is all in the plan.

"Oh, last night was _memorable,"_ Doom says. "To be sure. But I had something less dire in mind." He isn't sure if what he's doing will set Loki off. He never is. But Loki looks more dangerous and less wild this morning, so that's hopeful.

"What?" Loki says suspiciously. It's not at all seductive and it reeks of being not as in control as he'd like.

Victor smirks at the look on Loki's face. "Well, sex where I'm not afraid you're about to bite me and fly away would be on my list." He really wishes he had his armor, but this will do.

Loki shifts his weight without going anywhere. "I knew you didn't care for my other bodies," he says sadly. "There's much to fancy in a bird, you know, Victor. Only you are held back by prejudice." Loki smiles up and waits to see what kind of bored irritation he can warp Doom's blunt come-hither mood into.

Doom snorts. "You disgust me with your words in _any_ body." He grabs Loki's wrist lazily. He is aware that he needs to stop treating this as a normal relationship, but Loki is right there, and Doom is still tired.

Loki lets himself be pulled in by an inch. "Perhaps it's a machine to shut me up," he suggests.

"I do not believe such a thing could exist in any of your _realms,"_ Doom says, tightening his grip.

"Such high praise," Loki says, slightly breathless. "I did not know you thought me indomitable."

"Only in some senses." Doom gives up trying to pull Loki to him and instead slides toward him a few inches. "It's not a compliment."

"Of course not," Loki says, ducking and pulling back. His arm goes taut against Doom's grip. "You wouldn't dare risk that I might develop something as vulgar as your ego."

"My ego will never know a rival," Doom says, _yanking_ Loki hard toward him. Loki yelps as he falls forward, and it turns into a laugh as he catches himself on the heel of his free hand. 

_Don't be comfortable,_ he remembers, in a flash of too much memory, and sobers. He regards Victor with silent, unsmiling watchfulness.

"Something wrong, darling?" Doom asks almost viciously. He smiles and kisses Loki, teeth snapping at Loki's lip.

Loki whimpers, pretending it's the pain of Doom's teeth, but his words are like being struck. It's not enough.

"Only that you're at present the best I have to wake up to," Loki murmurs, docile.

Doom feels naked without his mask. The words wouldn't matter if he had that. He knows Loki doesn't mean it, anyway.

"I suggest you take that back," he hisses, still close to Loki's mouth. He digs his nails into Loki's wrist.

"I apologize," Loki says. "I spoke without thinking." A blatant lie, but the implication is nasty.

"Good to know we're both careless with our lovers," Doom snaps. He gives Loki a little shove with his other hand, still not releasing Loki's wrist.

Loki shows a flash of wolfish grin, tugging at Victor's hold on his arm. "I will need to work hard if I'm to be your equal," he says sweetly.

"Go on, impress me," Doom spits. His free hand falls to Loki's leg in more of a slap than a caress.

"Ah, ah," Loki says. He can feel himself looking pleased, hard-edged and glittering. "If I try, it won't be carelessness. It's _not_ trying that puts you so gloriously in amongst the crowd."

"The weapons that wound you are not the weapons that wound me," Doom tells him, which is only partially true. "I have no doubt of my uniqueness." He releases Loki's wrist to drag his nails across the back of Loki's arm.

Loki's eyes flutter and his breath catches. "Oh, to be sure, in many ways," he murmurs, digging his nails (which may be longer and sharper than usual, which is not cheating, because Victor knows Loki is a shapeshifter, and Loki loves cheats anyway) into Victor's thigh. "I don't think many men are so well known in this realm, or as frequently a laughingstock."

Ah, and there are the weapons that _will_ work on Doom. "Let us see if you can laugh when you're writhing under me and begging for more," he says, gripping Loki's hip.

Loki bites down on a cry, and then bites down on Victor's jaw, instead, which is more useful, especially since he picks the endpoint of a scar.

Doom shudders and leans forward, half furious and half interested, as always. "You little beast."

"I know. You degrade yourself by touching me," Loki answers viciously, so tense and sharp and growling that he might as well wear the body of the beast Victor calls him. "But you can't do better, any more than I can."

"I've done better," Victor says, but even as he says it, he's unsure of its truth. He pulls Loki closer so he cannot, indeed, fly away.

Loki notices, and sneers. "You have done nothing of the sort," he says. "A cast-off, fallen god who _hates_ you is the best that you can manage, and that god must fall onto your very doorstep for you to win it."

Doom changes angles and spins to slam Loki against the headboard. "You don't hate me," he whispers harshly. It is important to clarify that.

Loki pales, his feet searching for purchase. "No," he says, "No, of course I don't."

"That," Doom says, "would be ridiculous." He leans in and sucks Loki's bottom lip slowly and deliberately.

Loki chokes on a whimper, but he is trembling in Victor's hands. He starts to kiss back, for a moment, and then stops, startled and displeased with himself.

"It's all right, you fool," Doom says before kissing him again. He doesn't know how to strike the balance between dismissive and fond, when he wants to be neither of these things.

Loki's claws (for that’s what they are) dig into Victor's arms, and he does kiss back now. His legs are still tucked up together, though. He is trying to eat Victor up and keep himself safe and untouched at the same time.

Doom pins Loki against the headboard with a hand on his shoulder and kisses him harder. He doesn't mind kissing like it's a battle. He's already got Loki in his bed. Even if he can't win, he can't lose.

Loki does whimper now, into Victor's mouth before he pulls back forcefully. "Greedy as a suckling infant. Perhaps you think gods have no need to breathe?" He thinks his fear shows. At the least, none of the intended venom reaches his words.

"I think you," Doom says, punctuating the words with a kiss to Loki's throat this time, "could manage to hold your breath." He can tell Loki is about to panic because he's softening.

Loki moans, tilting his head aside so Victor can reach. He wants this, and he wants very badly to burst into a storm of ice and magic and push everything, _everything,_ to a distance. He wants to cut away the shivers in his skin. Instead he bares his throat and clamps his hands around Victor's arms.

"Oh," Doom breathes against Loki's throat. Loki never stops surprising him. He wonders if that means Loki is safe from the fate that surely awaits anyone who gets this close to Doom. He kisses Loki's throat again, carefully.

"Don't," Loki cries, and bites his lip, because that wasn't his intention. "I mean to say, Victor," but his voice is shaking, "there's no point in leaving marks if I'll only erase them." That’s a _self-sabotaging_ lie. He doesn’t even know where it came from.

"I can see one point," Doom says, and he punctuates the last word by ripping Loki's robes open.

Loki bolts forward and gasps out, "You can't--!" But he doesn't know what he wants to say, and he can't decide whether or in what way to cover himself.

The bitter recollection rises that Loki wants Victor, and he should not be trying to hide.

"I can," Doom says with confidence. "I want you. Now, preferably." He puts his hand on Loki's hip, firm, but still a question.

"Kiss me again," Loki says suddenly.

Doom obeys, without question for once.

Loki melts into it this time, and his grip on Victor's arm is with the soft pads of his fingers and nothing like talons.

This, Doom thinks, is more frightening. He doesn't know why, or even what it means, but more frightening still is that he doesn't break the kiss.

"You're right," Loki whispers. "I don't hate you. You're the only thing I don't hate." He reaches one hand up to stroke the lines of Victor's scars. "You hold all of your pieces together. I can't hold mine." He is shaking. "I want to be one piece."

He cannot think about his honesty now, because it could destroy him.

Doom puts his hands on Loki's hips and tightens his grasp until Loki should know he can't fall apart.

"But you are," he whispers. "All of your pieces are right here in my hands." It's a lot of responsibility. But Doom can handle that.

Loki shuts his eyes and swallows hard against making a sound. When he can take a breath, all the clever things he means to say evaporate from his tongue.

"Oh," he says.

Doom kisses Loki so neither of them will have to say anything. As he does, he squeezes Loki's hips gently.

Loki moans and slides towards him, wrapping his arms around Victor's back.

"Ahh," Doom mutters. "There we are." He bites down on Loki's lip.

Loki growls and bites back, his hands insistently tickling out the hem of Victor's shirt, one knee crooked up and lodged against Victor's ribs. Doom groans softly and presses closer, every part of him rebelling against the loss of a few more inches of armor.

Loki decides that he has done with Victor's armor. He pulls at the shirt in his hand until it catches at Victor's armpits, and then tugs a little more to remind him that Loki doesn't mind destroying Doom's property.

"Don't," Doom says, but without much feeling. He pulls the shirt off himself and then tugs Loki against him, pushing his hand inside Loki's robes to press against his chest.

"Oh, if you want to _bare_ me, just _bare me,"_ Loki growls. It's only half bravado, he realizes, and suddenly feels--much better.

Doom laughs and shoves Loki's robes off at the shoulder before pulling them free and casting them to the floor. No sense pretending that either of them is allowed any armor within easy reach this morning.

He shifts away from Loki for long enough to discard his own pants, in fairness.

Loki is temporarily still, and his expression is temporarily genuine.

"I did not..." he starts, but it doesn't matter. He smiles. "Victor Von Doom, will it brighten your morning to fuck a god?"

Doom puts his hand on Loki's leg as though it belongs to him. "It will," he says. He slides his hand up Loki's leg, nails scratching the skin lightly.

Loki whines, spine rigid, but his legs extricate themselves from between blankets and Doom and end up spread on either side of Doom's knees.

Seeing Loki like this always leaves Doom breathless, especially as it's never quite the same. This time, he doesn't hide the fact that he's struck by Loki.

"How do you want me to touch you?" he asks, recovering.

"Ha!" Loki says, really accidentally. "How? Be rough. Be everywhere. Tell me I'm alive."

"That," Doom says, "I can easily do." He shoves Loki down and pins him with his body weight, one hand fisted in Loki's hair, the other at his throat. He rolls his hips against Loki's roughly once or twice.

Loki moans and goes weak under his hands, his own still clawing at Victor's skin. His fingertips are icy.

Doom shifts against Loki's touch and hisses under his breath. It shouldn't feel this good. He should cast Loki's hands off.

He yanks Loki's head back and kisses his throat viciously. "I want to fuck you like this," he whispers when he pulls back. "So I can see your face." The downside being that Loki will also be able to see _his_ face.

Loki cries out and struggles against Victor's weight. "Don't," he says. "Don't, don't."

Doom kisses Loki's face. "I want that. I want to watch you. But if you mean it, I can turn you over." His hands skid down Loki's sides, rough and fast.

"Yes," Loki says. He doesn't know why he's so grateful. He's done worse with less pleasant partners, and without flinching.

Doom nods and manhandles Loki until he's facedown on the bed. If Loki wants this kind of armor, Doom will allow it. He strokes Loki's hip once, more gently. 

"Like this," he says, not a question.

Loki nods, even though Victor is not asking. He finds his balance on his hands and knees, because if Victor wants to push him down he'll have to do so himself.

Doom presses his hand against the middle of Loki's back and shoves him down, but he grips Loki's hip with his other hand, keeping his hips in the air. "You asked for rough," he whispers. "That's what you'll get."

Loki hums under his breath but doesn't answer or resist.

Doom reaches around Loki and twists one of his nipples viciously. "Then I can do what I will with you."

Loki cries out and cringes into his arms. He is half-hard and feeling less solid than he did when he woke up. "Touch me," he orders. It's the wrong place for orders, but so is every other place, and that has never stopped Loki from _trying._

Doom obeys, only because he wants so badly to wring every last ounce of reaction from Loki. He slides his hand around Loki's cock and jerks him unevenly a few times, pressing against Loki's back.

Loki shivers and gulps. "You could be anybody, Victor, how can I tell who you are when I can't see you and your armor isn't there to bruise me, you could be any stranger, you feel like a stranger." His words are rapid and muttered, but still clearly audible.

"Does that frighten you?" Victor whispers, bending closer to whisper in Loki's ear. "Or does it _not?_ No matter, you won't let me look you in the face." He drags his nails over Loki's stomach before sliding his hand back around Loki's cock.

Loki moans. "You wouldn't like it if I let someone else have me," he says. "You wish that I would worship you."

"To be worshiped by a god is to _be_ a god," Doom says roughly, biting down on Loki's shoulder between the words. "Yes, I want that. And I do not think it beyond my grasp. If you'll lie beneath me and let me use you, why should you not worship me? Which is more degrading?" He drops a quick kiss to Loki's shoulder to show he doesn't mean anything that should make Loki want to flee.

"The other," Loki says, laughing breathlessly. "Obviously the other." He leans his forehead on his arms where they lie parallel against the bed. "I will do no worship. Not of you. Not of any _god."_

Doom moves to run his hand from Loki's back from shoulder to tailbone. "Then I will be forced to wring other kinds of obedience from you." He rocks against Loki once as punctuation. "Do you want this?"

Loki breathes out carefully.

" _You_ want it," he says, which is more to the point.

"I do," Doom says. "Clearly. And you hardly seem indifferent." He touches Loki's chest again, circling one of his nipples with a finger.

"Mm," Loki agrees. "Will it feed your ego, Victor? Will it mean you are in control? Will I be properly dominated if you hold me down and fuck me?"

Doom considers. "Yes," he says, "I think it will." He has no compunctions about taking advantage of more traditional metaphors for domination.

"Fool," Loki whispers. He relaxes his whole body and says, "Fine, then. Take as you want and see what you get for it."

"You think I need a fight to make it worthwhile?" Doom asks. But he's put out. This isn't how it's supposed to work.

He moves away only long enough to retrieve a small bottle from the bedside table. If Loki won't fight, Doom won't push. They can bore themselves to orgasm.

Loki rolls onto his side like a cat and watches Victor hunt moodily for his necessaries. "Dearest," he says silkily, "I hope you're not somehow disappointed that you needn't take me by force. You did say you wouldn't."

"There is a difference," Doom snaps, "between force and _passion._ But if you insist on lying there and taking it like you don't care..." He stands over Loki and regards him with displeasure.

"You _could,"_ says Loki, " _make_ me care." He peers up over his shoulder, eyes glittering.

"You're too stubborn, surely," Doom says, but he grabs Loki and shoves him back down just in case. "Would this make you care?" He digs his nails into Loki's hips.

Loki bites on a sound in the back of his throat. He looks up at Doom half in challenge and half in poorly-disguised lust. "If you can't figure it out," he purrs, "you're barely a man, let alone a god. _Caring_ is something that I'm told I do _very_ well. Incorrectly. But in great quantity."

Doom grabs a handful of Loki's hair and yanks his head back. "Then _care."_ He slaps Loki's hip hard.

Loki gasps, and starts to murmur something, but there are no words in it. He works his leg free so his thigh is braced against Victor's hip. His scalp prickles, and it makes him shiver straight through.

He tries again to speak. "Keep trying," he says. And it comes out clearly enough that he might entirely mean it.

Doom digs his fingers in right where Loki's hairline meets the top of his ear. 

"You're so sensitive. How do I decide where to strike next?" He kisses Loki's shoulder, using his tongue more than he needs to.

Loki hums and struggles when he forgets not to struggle.

"Anywhere you like, of course, dearest," he says. "What's to your taste?"

"Luckily, with you, I don't have to choose," Doom says viciously, but oh, he does like that. Loki is anything and everything, and despite the fact that Loki is a lot of things Doom would sooner avoid dealing with, he appreciates that.

"I'm going to fuck you," he says.

Loki wriggles a little underneath him. "Good," he says. "Yes. How?"

"You won't let me look you in the face?" Doom asks, checking. He doesn't take his hands off Loki.

Loki scowls. "I," he starts. Then his expression shifts, and he snarls, "Just don't look at me like you _love_ me." That hangs between them for a moment, and then Loki deflates, more self-consciously awkward than he usually is. "I don't mind, otherwise."

Doom is unused to _hurting_ for people, so he doesn't quite hide his expression when Loki says that. But he knows pity is the last thing Loki wants, so instead he says, businesslike, "Oh, I have a dozen other ways I can look at you, dearest."

Loki smiles, the small kind that Doom could probably actually trust. "Then fuck me like this, Victor, and I might even look back."

"I can make you look at me," Doom says, half playful and half confident. "Open your legs for me, then. I want to be inside you." It's easy to pretend he does things like this all the time.

"Ha!" Loki says, but it's not nasty. It's just that Victor is businesslike, and not to cover loathing. Loki is waiting to object, and it simply isn't objectionable.

He spreads his legs, knees up, and tilts up his hips. "Be inside me," he says, a little breathless growl. "Make me look."

Doom shivers and shakes it off impatiently. "Oh yes," he hisses, shoving Loki's legs further apart. He slicks his fingers with lube and pushes one inside Loki a little more quickly than necessary. "I never know how much preparation a _god_ requires."

Loki laughs, delighted. "That depends where you're going," he says. "And what body I'm wearing." He jerks back against Doom's fingers.

"All of them seem to open themselves to me readily enough." Doom twists his finger inside Loki and slaps his hip again.

Loki yelps when Doom hits him, and then looks surprised at himself. Surprised, but pleased, and a little dazed. "More," he says. "Come, now, Victor, be a gentleman, I know you're not a _small god."_

"If you want to take it, I can give it to you," Doom snaps. He withdraws his finger none too gently and pushes the tip of his cock inside. "Do you like this?" he whispers viciously. "Do you want me to stretch you open?” He watches Loki's face.

"What do you want?" Loki murmurs. He winces and fidgets but doesn't seem to really mind.

"I want to see the faces you make while I fuck you," Doom says, pushing further in. He rarely has trouble restraining himself, but he wants Loki _now._ He digs his nails into Loki's hip to ground himself.

Loki breathes out slow and hard, catching his nails against Victor's arms and failing to relax. He babbles back, voice taut, "Of course, you needn't ask, I'll give you myself as a present and everything you want and one day you'll be King of Asgard and I can be--your..."

Doom splays his hand in the center of Loki's chest to still him as he moves inside him. "You could by my adviser," he suggests quietly. He knows Loki would never allow him to touch Asgard, but it's a nice thought. And what Loki _allows_ would not necessarily limit Doom.

"Victor, the potted plants in the hall are not your color,'" Loki suggests helpfully. "Victor, don't bother invading Midgard because it's a wasteland of peasant mediocrity. Victor," his voice drops, "I suggest you kill all your subjects."

Doom makes a noise of pleased surprise and fucks Loki harder. "Oh, _yes._ All full of helpful advice. You certainly can be nasty." His head is practically spinning, though. He's rarely been so pleased to have captured something like Loki beneath him.

"Fucking your adviser is not...advisable," Loki points out to him. His voice is uneven, hissing and growling between moans. It's difficult to say whether he's playing or unhappy with his game.

"I don't take advice well," Doom says. "Oh, you--you feel so good." He bites his lip, annoyed with himself. There is a flaw in his plan, and that flaw is that Loki can see _him._

Loki is becoming more unreadable. He is jerking against Victor's hips, panting for him, but half the sounds and faces he's making could easily be the wrong kind of frustration.

"I am...so far--from that," he gasps, and then manages a sharp, unpleasant smile. Victor begins to feel very cold.

Doom stops moving. "What are you--" He shudders without meaning to. "Stop."

A blueish hue creeps up Loki's skin, subtle and then more solid.

"But Victor, don't you love me?" he asks sweetly. "Can you not take ownership of any of my forms?"

Doom is shaking. Furious with this, and with Loki, he snarls through chattering teeth, "Not naked. Not like this."

"Weak," Loki hisses. "No good, mortal, without your armor." His heart is pounding. It's the wrong thing to say. He doesn't know when he became angry.

"Stop," Doom says, but he doesn't pull away, even though he's freezing. "You'll kill me." He doesn't think he sounds afraid. It's just a warning.

The cold evaporates instantly, and the blue leeches out of Loki's skin. He's paler than he was before he changed. He stares at Victor.

"I'm sorry," he says. He'll never spend more than an hour in Victor's presence without crying. It's revolting. Loki is revolting. He doesn't know what he was thinking, except he wanted to prove--

Well. What he wanted to prove, it wouldn't be worth anything if he killed Victor proving it.

"You mean that," Doom says. Even now, his teeth won't stop chattering. "I'm not angry. I'm just _cold._ I wanted to fuck you, damn it. Why must you make things difficult?" He strokes Loki's chest roughly with one hand to show that he doesn't mind, really.

Loki's breath catches on a sob. "I can't help it," he says. "I don't want--is it no good, now? I ruined that plan, didn't I? Oh, I am so wretched, I shouldn’t touch anything I don't wish to destroy. I'm sorry, Victor."

Victor forces a laugh, but as he looks at Loki, the laugh becomes real. "Oh, Loki. Loki. You could not destroy Doom. And do not think you have escaped being made mine." He digs his nails in as confirmation.

"But you are shivering," Loki says. "And I do not think--" He jerks his hips back against Victor's. "...I have left you with everything to work with. Oh, I." He stops, considers, looks away. "I wanted a good morning," he says, very quietly. "Where I forgot I'm mad and miserable. Just today."

"I don't need to forget to love you," Doom says, blunt and honest.

Loki shivers. "Oh, _no,"_ he says. "I told you not to."

"I know," Doom says. "But you nearly killed me. I'm allowed to break the rules as well." He smoothes a hand over Loki's face, though, covering his eyes, letting him hide just a little.

Loki slowly relaxes. "Is there another way?" he asks hopefully. "Could we still...?" By now it's terribly obvious that he _wants,_ not just sex, but Victor, and it's not a game or a hunt and he ought not be so honest, but he was _frightened._

"I would like to still," Doom says. "I am chilled, but you could give me a moment. Or I could give you my hands. If you don't want that, I have...devices." He blushes and is immediately annoyed at himself for doing so.

Loki pushes Victor's hand away and sits up. "Oh, your _machines,"_ he says, grinning in what has to be a horrifying way. "Yes, Victor, perhaps it's time you proved to me you're the genius you've told me so _much_ about."

"Oh, I will," Doom says testily. "You wouldn't like all of them. But some...Oh, some you would like too much."

" _Hmmm,"_ Loki says. "Bring me something?" He blinks, feline. "To replace your cock."

Doom balks at the wording, but he ignores it. "Nothing could replace that," he says, but he's already up and throwing open the doors to his vast wardrobe. He reaches into the back for the trunk of completed inventions that he would rather not keep in his lab.

"What size would you prefer?" he asks.

"I told you, Victor," Loki says patiently. "I want _you._ Bring me what's most like _you."_

Doom turns away to hide his expression and little intake of breath. "Very well," he says, muffled by the wardrobe. He extracts something more like him with the armor than without, but he doubts Loki will mind.

"Oh!" Loki says from the other side of the room. The purr is back in his voice. "Victor! That's _exactly_ like you. Most of the time."

Doom strides back to the bed, made somewhat less impressive by his nakedness, and brandishes the device. 

"At least I know you appreciate me." As far as he's concerned, the armor is practically part of him.

"I'll appreciate you more," Loki says, eyes flicking between Victor's face and what he's holding. "Do you still want to see my face?"

"Hide it, if that helps you decide not to freeze me to death," Doom says, sliding back onto the bed. "Hide it and let me take you with this."

Loki rolls over obediently, back on his hands and knees as he was at the beginning. Loki doesn't think he completely objects to this version of repeating history, as long as it goes _better_ this time. To make sure it does, he says, "Please."

"Yes," Doom whispers. He retrieves the bottle of lube and slicks his fingers again. He knows Loki doesn't need gentleness, but he doesn't want to disrupt matters by hurting Loki, either. Besides, the toy--he doesn't really think of it as a toy--is slightly bigger than he is.

Loki peers back at Victor, checking, because he can't fully locate him by feel yet. 

"Do you use them on your own?" he asks curiously. "Or are they for other people? Have you used them in other people, Victor?"

"I haven't used them," he admits. "Maybe once, on myself, to experiment with their functionality. But mostly I make them when I'm too tired or frustrated with my other work to focus on it." He doesn't do this. He doesn't talk about how he works. He eases a finger inside Loki, hoping to distract him.

" _Ohh._ Victor," Loki says, and then he laughs. "You tricked me. I'm one of your experiments after all."

"I've never had such trouble with one before," he says, smirking. He works Loki open and pushes in a second finger. He wants very badly to see his device in Loki.

Loki goes still for a moment, and then rocks his hips back onto Victor's fingers. "Some experiments should be scrapped before they begin," he agrees.

"Then I suppose you shall have to be something else," Doom mutters. "Tell me when you're ready for this." He rubs his device against Loki's hip in rhythm with his fingers. Loki doesn't answer for a minute, fucking himself steadily.

"I think now," he says finally. In keeping with his plan to have a good morning, he relaxes, and he doesn't fight or run.

Doom nods and slides his finger out, more gently this time. He pushes the toy in more slowly, too. "I want you to feel every inch," he whispers.

Loki whimpers and ducks his head. "There will be...no problem...with that," he says weakly. He shifts his knees another inch apart and leans forward, so Victor's machine will fit inside him more quickly.

This is almost as good as fucking Loki himself. Better, maybe, because he's less likely to lose control this way. He works the machine further inside until the base is resting against Loki's body.

"Would you like me to turn it on?" he whispers.

"I," says Loki, and twists around, big-eyed and bemused. "I--I confess, Victor, I have no idea what that will do."

Doom laughs. "No, I suppose this is foreign to you. Let me show you, just a little." He gently eases the switch on the base just a centimeter. The machine shudders faintly under his hand.

Loki yelps in surprise ( _again_ \--it's so puppyish) and digs his nails into the sheets. "Is, is that--do other mortals use devices like this _often?"_

Doom is trying very, very hard not to laugh. It helps that Loki is still gorgeous, even in his confusion.

"I gather so, yes," he says. "Women in particular. You can purchase them fairly easily."

"Ah," Loki says, embarrassed. "I--what happens if you do _more than a little?"_

"Oh," Doom says, "You'll see." He turns up the power over halfway and moves the machine inside Loki in short little thrusts.

Loki shouts, and then he keens, his arms giving out under him. He throws his body back against Victor's hands, making sounds that could be words except that they clearly aren't.

Doom gasps and grips Loki's hip with his free hand, holding him in place while he fucks him with the machine. "Oh, yes, take it," he mutters. "You sound so good."

Loki laughs and chokes and it descends into a groan. "You're unbearable," he fights to say. "You're awful. Only my madness lets you do this to me."

"Weak, my darling," Doom says, and he turns the machine's power the rest of the way up as he reaches around to touch Loki's cock.

Loki screams, and then simply sobs into Victor's pillows, weak and struggling and terrifyingly close to really helpless.

This is the best thing Doom has ever seen in this room. "Oh," he says. He strokes Loki in time with the rhythm of the machine, pressing as close to Loki as possible. Loki's whole body is shaking, and his feet kick out for a grip, to push Victor away, for _something._

"Please," he sobs. "Don't keep me like this, Victor, please, I need, I need," but the end of his need blurs and slips away from his tongue, and twists his head backs towards the pillow to dampen his _noises._

On a whim, Doom lets go of Loki's cock and yanks his head back by the hair. "No," he snarls. "I want to hear you as you whimper and sob and come for me." He changes the rhythm of the machine inside Loki.

Loki is wailing, crying out in time with Victor's machine. He can barely catch a breath and his cock aches and the tension Victor is making, with his hand knotted in Loki's hair, makes Loki frantic.

"Let me!" he howls. " _Let me!_ Please, Victor, please, please, damn you, you can't hold me like this!"

Even thoughts of pride are lost, several steps ago. Now all Loki can feel is what Victor is giving him, which is almost more than Loki can stand. For a few moments more, Doom _does_ hold him, keeping him in agonizing limbo. Then he releases Loki's hair and reaches down to pump his cock a few times, rough and steady.

" _Ohh,"_ Loki moans, and, "Please just tell me I can!"

He's stung with surprise at his own begging, because he's never asked anyone's permission before. Not even Victor's. Especially not Victor's. He has to find out _why._ Later. He has to find out.

"Come for me," Doom whispers, awed. Loki isn't usually like this. It's almost too much for him to handle.

Loki shudders and bucks against Victor and his hands and his toys, and comes across his sheets, crying out like his life is being dragged from him. When he's stilled and stopped gasping, he falls bonelessly against the bed, slipping half off of Victor's machine.

Doom draws the machine the rest of the way out and discards it on the other side of the bed. This will all have to be cleaned later. For now, he leans over Loki and rubs small circles across his skin, _shh_ -ing him.

Loki sighs under Victor's careful touch. He wants to look up, to see Victor's face while he's not _hiding_ it, but the effort to turn seems so much greater than Loki's available strength.

This is different from anyone before, he knows. But why?

 _Because you make him angry,_ he thinks, _and he doesn't hate you._

Awful. Unbearable. He tries to turn onto his back.

Doom rolls Loki over, completing the motion for him. He feels, again and suddenly, how naked he is. He wants to turn away, but that would expose him in other ways.

"Was it good for you?" he jokes half-heartedly.

Loki ignores the question with the obvious answer, and says mildly, "Did you like that? Once I stopped trying to kill you?"

"Very much so," Doom says. "And not only because you were in my power. Not even mostly because of that."

Loki smiles (the small smile). He says, "That is how it is, if I am not mad."

"Then I am lucky that you're not," Doom whispers. He leans in and kisses Loki.

"Not this morning," Loki corrects him. "Because this is a good day."

"If you were _never_ mad, I don't know how well we'd get along," Doom says. He puts his arm around Loki and tugs him close.

"Ah, well," says Loki. He doesn't really remember that clearly what _before_ was like, anyway, so whatever fleeting desire he has to recapture it is probably as silly as half his other plans.

He still _feels_ like his old self, though, in the places where it counts for this. He reciprocates. He curls up against Victor and snakes an arm around him.

"I have evidence," he murmurs, "that you really are the genius scientist you tell me about."

"You'll never doubt me again," Doom says, against all evidence. But he's happy. Just happy, disturbingly enough. Can it be that this choice was the right one, even more than he thought?

"Never," Loki agrees insincerely. "Victor, Victor, you should go back to sleep. I want to take a nap."

Doom laughs. "And naturally I must be asleep for you to do that. Very well, then. I accept."

Loki smiles at him, and, true to his word, lies down and waits.


	11. tony and steve talk it out beforehand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I just don't want to be a disappointment," he says bluntly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none!

Steve opens his door to find Tony looking harassed outside it. He raises an eyebrow.

"I heard Jan and Thor's friend are back from Latveria," he says.

"Uh, yeah," Tony says, stepping inside without further permission. He's hassled enough not to care. "They're okay, but it was a close one. Looks like once Loki stops being distracted by Doom, we're going to have a handful of alienated god on our hands."

Which is only a tiny fraction of what he's stressed about.

"How close is close?" Steve asks, shutting the door. " _Close?"_

Tony feels boxed in, and he can't decide if that's good or bad. "They're not hurt," he clarifies. "But Loki could have killed Jan. They just got lucky."

Steve sighs through his nose. "Great," he says. "You should tell me what your brilliant anti-god defense plans are. After you sit down and I get you a cup of tea and at least one really valiant attempt at good kissing."

"Oh," Tony says, horribly derailed from whatever manic spiral he was working up to. "Sure. Yeah. I can live with that. And I don't, actually. Have a plan." It's a lie; he has several, but he knows none of them will work. He needs a good plan.

"Well, we'll make one," Steve says, putting a hand on Tony's arm to push him towards Steve's saggy, not at all Stark-regulation couch. He got it off the _internet._ Jan helped. "That's why there's more than one of us. Besides, if nothing else works, we'll just try hitting him really hard."

"That usually works," Tony says, letting himself be steered. "Wow, this couch is really--this place is very you, now. You're making it very you." Whatever that even is. Oh god, but dating Steve is so much more terrifying than dating a stranger. He's suddenly wondering if dating is an okay word.

Steve laughs. "You mean it's second-hand and a little dusty? The couch."

"Dusty," Tony repeats. "Is that how you see yourself? Or is that how other people see you? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you're very--not."

Steve considers. "I think I'm making a metaphor," he says. "About how I haven't quite got the hang of now, and it shows."

Tony laughs. "Yeah, I know about metaphors. Trust me. And this is a good one. But you're honestly doing okay." He puts his hand on Steve's arm because he's allowed. "You could pass as some regular guy."

"Thanks," Steve says dryly. "I'm getting up now, Tony, and I am making tea. Like some regular guy."

"No offense," Tony says belatedly, charmed out of his mind. He wants to just sit and watch Steve do things. But that would be weird.

"You can stay put," Steve says, standing up, and then realizes that sounds a little commanding. "Or not, if you want."

Tony laughs. "Wow, I can tell who's the boss around here. Hint, not you." He wonders if that's an okay joke to make.

Steve grins and wanders into the kitchen.

"You say that with so much pleasure now," he says loudly without looking back, "but just wait until you wish I _was_ a little bossy."

Then he grabs the teapot and makes sure not to look and see what Tony is thinking about that. Tony has covered his mouth in pleased shock. Oh, god, Steve really is the perfect man. Except they're absolutely going to have a problem with that. Tony can't wait.

"Don't worry, it doesn't defeat the purpose if I have to make you!" he calls after Steve.

Steve realizes that the teapot is not the first step in making tea, puts it down, blushes, turns on the kettle, and digs out two bags of assam.

"I don't know if it's better or worse to have this conversation in two different rooms," he says more loudly than is strictly necessary.

"BETTER," Tony bellows. It's nice to know that sex is something they can at least pretend to begin to talk about. Baby steps. But oh, Tony really wants it. Except for the fact that he's, you know, twice Steve's age and his body's all wrong. Those are reasons not to want it.

Steve pads back in and sits down beside Tony with a thump. "I don't think it's better," he says. "Um. But just so I don't torment myself over it, do you _want_... someone bossy, or the--the other way around?" He very carefully looks at Tony, because he's not repulsed and he's not a coward, either.

Tony smiles. "You," he says, "are the sweetest. No one ever _asks._ Honestly, I like being pushed around. Love it. But I don't exactly take it lying down, either." _Anymore,_ he adds, but not out loud.

Steve smiles briefly. "I feel that what you've just described I have the ability to handle."

Tony laughs a little hysterically. "Y'know, we can talk about what _you_ want, too." Not like he's wanted to know that for years or anything.

"Er," says Steve, blushing. "I--I like being the..." He stops and rubs his face and smiles at Tony. "It's pretty stupid that I've done it enough that I've lost count, and I still don't know how to say what I was doing."

Tony puts his hand on Steve's forearm, reminding himself. "Hey. It's okay. I'm not going to judge or freak out or even laugh at you. I'm really not."

"No, no, I didn't think you would!" Steve says, even though he's grateful to Tony for saying so. "I mean I really don't know the euphemisms, now, and a more pragmatic description is a bit...much for me."

Tony nods amicably and puts his arm around Steve instead. "Yeah, fair enough. I figure 'top' and 'bottom' are descriptive enough, although they've always left a little something to be desired, in my book."

Steve chews on this while the kettle blusters in the next room. Finally he says, "Assuming I've got this right, the word for me is _top._ But, uh," he finally gives in and peers intensely at his hands, "I don't mind being pushed a little by the other party. Like, ah, like you."

Tony grins. "Oh, I think we're gonna be _fine._ Trust me, I push. When I don't, it's usually a bad sign." He's kind of relieved Steve has this much experience. It makes him seem like less of a _kid._

"Why am I not surprised?" Steve says, and gets up abruptly. "Kettle's boiling," he explains, and trots back to the kitchen to fill the teapot.

"Adorable," Tony mutters. "What am I _doing?"_ He thinks it's all okay. It seems okay.

Steve comes back with the teapot and two mugs hooked over one finger. 

"You're being really careful," he observes. "So far. With me. Is that because of me or is that because of you?"

"Both," Tony admits. "I don't know what you're okay with. For all I know, the idea of having sex with guys makes you panic because it's _not allowed,_ you know?" He takes the proffered cup. "And yeah. There's me."

"Er," says Steve. "First of all. I, just to be clear, I'm still here and making tea and talking about...this...and offering to kiss you because I know what I want. Being scared of it isn't gonna stop me." He thinks. "As to you, I guess the same applies. Not scared, I guess, just new. New idea. The only real question is how _you_ feel about all this."

People don't...ask Tony that question. Like, ever. "Huh," he says, completely stumped for a moment. Then he says slowly, "I feel good about it. I mean, I idolized you when I was a kid. Which is now very weird. And okay, it's all a little terrifying, because you're--and I'm--and yeah, intimidating." None of that conveys quite the panic he's been building up to, but he doesn't need to have a meltdown now. Steve's being so nice.

"I'm not intimidating!" Steve says plaintively. "I don't want to be intimidating!"

Tony laughs unevenly. "Well," he says, "when you grow up on Captain America. Besides, you're...well, a super soldier. And young and strapping and handsome." Buried in there, hidden in the middle, is the panic.

"I'm just Steve," Steve says quietly. It's surprising how much all those things he fought to become can suddenly--hurt.

Tony sucks in a breath and pulls himself to a halt. "What I actually mean," he says, "is that _that_ terrifies me. You're just this good, stable, nice guy who wants to do the right thing. _That's_ intimidating."

"Sorry," Steve says. He's not sure what else _to_ say. "Am I--that sounds really boring. Am I really that boring?"

"I've never met anyone like you before," Tony says, shrugging. "No, Steve, it's not boring."

"Well, that's a relief," Steve says. "Just intimidating, not boring." He doesn't _feel_ intimidating. He knows he's bigger than Tony, physically, and he knows there's this whole history of Captain America that's lived the last seventy years without him, and sometimes he feels old just for being in the wrong frame of reference. But Tony is--Tony is not less intimidating than all of that.

Tony smiles. The fact that Steve isn't impressed with himself never stops being helpful. 

"You," Tony says, "are just some kid who wants to do the right thing, aren't you?"

"Um," Steve says. "I--yes. I, I guess so. I mean, I was. I'm not really a kid now. I still want to do the right thing."

"You seem like a kid." Tony isn't skirting the issue he's worried about very gracefully, and he's realizing he's more worried than he thought. But he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it.

"I don't know about that," he corrects himself. "Not like a kid. But like a young...guy. Like what you are."

Steve is very quiet.

Tony swallows. He's just going to keep ruining these moments. "I mean," he says, trying to make it a joke, "kinda wonder sometimes what you're doing with an old man like me."

Steve says, "Tony, please don't--please don't tell me you flirted and came out, and, and talked to Natasha and drank my tea and spent all this time on..." He breathes. "Don't. Tell me. It was just so you could call it off because you think I'm not old enough to decide if your age matters or not."

Tony wishes he'd never opened his mouth. Steve is the scariest thing that's ever happened to him, and he just keeps getting scarier. And better. They shouldn't be the same thing.

"Oh," he says. "Um. No, no, I didn't--sorry. That was--I just want you to know what you're in for. My heart is--I don't think I'll--" He doesn't know how to do this right.

That's an entire train of thought that Steve hadn't hit on. Hearing Tony not exactly say it makes Steve feel cold straight through.

"Could we not assume you're about to drop dead?" he says, which comes out more harshly than it should.

"Ha," Tony says weakly. "Steve, if you're going to go around assuming that, I doubt we'll ever be on the same page." He wishes someone could just write Steve a summary of the number of ways he's been about to die in the past few years, and preferably of how he's reacted.

"You're the one who said," Steve starts, and then jerks his hand forward to pour a cup of tea. It's shaking.

"No, I," Tony starts. He rubs his face. He's doing this all wrong. He's self-sabotaging again, he realizes. Oh, god. He can't do that. Not with this.

"I just don't want to be a disappointment," he says bluntly. Because that is the worst thing he could be.

"You're _not,"_ Steve says thickly. "I know I don't know everything, Tony, but I'm not--I'm not _stupid._ And I'm not just saying yes over and over because I'm being _honorable,_ if that's what you think."

"I guess," Tony says slowly, "I'm just not sure why you've been saying yes." He swallows. "Shit," he says shakily. "You're already the best thing that's happened to me, and we haven't even slept together."

Steve hunches miserably. "I don't know what to say when you say that kind of thing," he says. He's upset, Tony realizes. Upset and not feeling less upset just because Tony's said another nice thing about how great he is.

Well, no. Tony can't imagine anyone likes getting that thrown at them.

"I'm not very good at letting you just be normal," he says after a second. "So, sorry."

"Yeah," Steve says. "You could work on that." He turns. "You know, it's also really intimidating when someone likes you and they're one of the smartest people on the planet and they manage a massive corporation and they have this plan to save the world and actually have the resources to do it better than you ever could."

Tony lets out a long, shaky breath. "Uh. Can we agree that we're both just kind of extraordinary and move on? Because we are. I mean, we're good. We're both good." He pats Steve's wrist, feeling a little lighter. Maybe this is acceptable.

"Okay," says Steve, "so could we also assume that our respective ages are not a problem? Because last time I--because _age_ hasn't got anything to do with...with anything."

"Whoa," Tony says, because he's noticed them talking around some things. Then he stops, because he suddenly and violently doesn't want to know. It'll just make him more insecure. "Right," he says instead. "Let's assume that. I believe you if you say it doesn't matter." Mostly true, and he'll feel better after either his next health scare or the first time they have sex.

Steve nods. He's still holding his tea, but he really doesn't want it.

"I, um," he says, but then he stops and has to blink and clench his teeth. He didn't mean to make that about Bucky. It _is_ about Bucky, but he didn't mean to say anything.

That's only one thing, though. A big thing, but one thing. He feels all out of sorts, now, and like maybe his pieces and Tony's pieces are all put together out of order. How can that work? Even if Steve can get used to the idea that they're allowed to _exist,_ he can't help wondering if maybe he's the one who's going to promise everything and then run for it.

He hates that thought.

"Sorry," Tony says, quickly but probably a few minutes too late for it to matter. "Sorry, I'm really fucking this up. I don't know how to, uh--I'm horrible at relationships. But I want this one to work." He just doesn't know how to _talk_ about things.

Steve turns back to Tony, pleading. "I--Bucky _died,"_ he says. That's it, isn't it? Or it's close enough that it works.

"Hey," Tony says sharply, grabbing Steve's hands without even thinking about it " _Hey."_ He wishes he could promise he won't, but that won't be fair. But he needs to promise something.

"It was my fault," Steve explains. He is pretty sure that it's all right to cry about that. "I know it was war, but it was still my fault."

Tony squeezes Steve's hands hard. "I don't think that's true. Nobody else does, either. But look, I can promise you that if anything happens to me, it won't be because of you." He gives Steve a slightly manic, frightened smile. "And I don't plan on dying any time soon."

Steve nods jerkily. "You know, nothing else about this scares me as much as that. Happening again. Everything else is just--I wish you wouldn't make up all these problems about yourself, Tony, because it's upsetting as hell when you think you're this no-good thing, and really you're fine, you just take _work_ like other people, and I want you to be happy and I want you to think you could possibly make _me_ happy, and I really want you to stop acting like there's some big test where we can't touch because I'll hate touching you, because there's not, and I won't, and maybe you haven't considered that I'm not even thinking about that possibility because I want you to touch _me_ so goddamned much."

Tony...has run out of words. Idiot. He's been so stupid. This is _so easy_ to make okay, and he just--hasn't.

"Steve," he says, and he kisses him.


	12. tony and steve have sex for a long time without fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has never been fucked like this and had it feel this _okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: explicit cis guy/trans guy pornography, reference to past bad relationships

Steve sobs into Tony's mouth, kissing him back, and moves closer to him on the couch, feeling for his arm and then his shoulder and his back. His heart is pounding and he's terrified and it's such a _relief._

"Oh, oh," Tony says incoherently, kissing Steve harder and pushing Steve's shirt up to touch his stomach. He's _allowed._ This is _fine._

"Come closer?" Steve asks, following where he's led and untucking Tony's shirt from the back of his pants.

Tony nods as best he can while trying not to stop touching Steve everywhere he can reach. "Yeah," he breathes, and he swings himself over to straddle Steve.

"Oh," Steve says. "Yes, that's." He grabs Tony by the back of the neck and drags him back into a kiss, freeing more of his shirt with his spare hand.

Tony doesn't usually make out with people who aren't huge mistakes in one way or another. This is really, really nice. He bites Steve's lip a little and wonders how pushy Steve will let him be.

He's scared, though, despite everything Steve has said. He isn't even sure what he's scared of.

Steve pulls back. "How far's okay?" he asks. "I want--but we can..."

"Fucking is fine," Tony blurts out, because he's never been one to do things by halves.

Steve laughs. "Okay," he says. "Okay. One thing at a..." he trails off and focuses on unbuttoning Tony's shirt. Arc reactor shining through. Steve hasn't gotten to see it properly before. He stops halfway through taking Tony's shirt off to grab his arms, and take his time looking at it. It's really strange. It's really _pretty._

"So, that's my heart," Tony jokes, but his voice is hushed.

"You," Steve says, "invent the prettiest damn things." He looks up and grins. "Although I bet it's a real bug problem if you're ever in the country on a summer night."

Tony laughs and for a second he can't stop. "Oh, god," he says. "Well, I--I don't spend a lot of time in the country."

So, this is how it is. Steve is what he needs. He relaxes a little more and runs his hands over Steve's stomach, shoving his shirt up again.

"Mmm," Steve says, but he doesn't lose focus. He pushes Tony's shirt down his arms and drags him forward to kiss his chest, between his collarbone and the Arc reactor.

Tony shivers and makes a little sound. He hasn't actually been very naked with many people since he got the thing. He digs his nails into Steve's sides lightly and leans his head back.

"I gotcha," Steve says. He moves one hand to Tony's back and presses gently against his spine. "You just say if something hurts in a bad way, okay?" He kisses Tony's arm where it becomes his shoulder.

Tony is incredibly charmed that Steve is making the distinction. "You, too," he says. He squirms closer and pushes Steve's shirt up more insistently. "More nudity," he suggests weakly.

Steve laughs again. "All right," he says. "Don't fall off." He lets Tony go and pulls his own shirt off over his head.

" _Well,"_ Tony says. He splays his hand over Steve's chest. "Yeah, always impressive." He runs his nails over Steve's skin lightly to see if he can raise goosebumps.

" _Mmm,"_ Steve says, eyes squeezing shut like a cat's. He can feel his nipples getting harder from the touch, and the embarrassment from that dissipates just as it starts to turn real. "Well, I save all my prettiness for you."

"Jesus Christ," Tony whispers. "Yeah, you better." He leans in to kiss Steve's neck, using a lot of tongue.

Steve hisses and clamps his hands around Tony's wrists.

"Hnnn," Tony says. "Oh, god, you're--just so _hot."_

Steve's breath catches. He shifts his grip further up Tony's arms, and spins them around so Tony is abruptly and neatly pinned to the couch. Tony moans out loud. He's not subtle about the things he likes. Any of them.

"Hey," he says up at Steve, and he wriggles hard.

Steve leans harder. "Hey what?" he asks innocently, and pushes his leg between Tony's knees.

Tony clamps his knees around Steve's leg and rocks a little, feeling weirdly secure. "Hey, you pinned me, Cap," he says, smiling.

"I did," Steve says. "I have Iron Man contained and soon I'll divest him of the rest of his armor."

Tony isn't sure if he's amused or turned on. Probably very both. "Divest away," he half gasps. Except, oh god. Armor. Is useful. Being all the kinds of naked is a terrifying prospect.

"Sure?" Steve says. He tries to make his touch supportive, not--demanding.

"I don't break easily," Tony says with an encouraging smile. "Trust me, I'd have done it by now."

Steve nods, and undoes Tony's belt. "You're good," he says. "I mean it, all right? This right here is the best thing that's happened to me today by a mile." Button, fly, double-checking that it's really okay.

In being charmed by Steve being so incredibly _from the past,_ Tony forgets to be nervous. " _We're_ good," he says.

"O- _kay,"_ Steve says, and fits his hands under both layers of Tony's clothes to pull them down. He wonders in the second where it's still a question whether this will be disorienting and alien or totally comfortable in his apparently silly and old-fashioned mind. Tony tries not to hold this breath at this part, but he's not sure that impulse will ever go away.

Steve smiles. "Okay," he says again. "Now I'm terrified, because now is my last chance to admit I'm not very good at, uh, these particular parts. So, advance apologies for my clumsy inexperience. Please don't put your pants on and leave."

Tony laughs. "Oh, god. It's okay. It's fine. It really, really is. I promise I'm easy." He's trying to be nice, but it's also true. He grins and pushes against Steve a little. The problems Steve's having aren't the ones Tony thought he'd be having. It's great.

"Hmm," says Steve. "I'm going to take off my pants, to be fair to me. You stay where you are."

Tony stays, because bed is the one place he actually does what he's told. "Yes, sir."

Steve jumps, and, recovering, says, "Damn right," and gives the side of Tony's knee a sharp pat as he backs off to take off his pants. He can feel a little button-sized piece of panic spinning itself into a knot in his chest, but he takes a deep breath an exhales most of it. The rest he ignores.

When he's naked he leans down over Tony and says, "What _exactly_ do you want me to do to you?"

" _Jesus,"_ Tony says with feeling. Steve is deeply attractive naked and he keeps saying deeply attractive things. Tony can hardly think. But he needs to. That's important.

"Well," he says, half pulling himself a little more upright, "if you want to fuck me, you can. I mean, any way you want. I use...all of it." He swallows hard and forces himself to keep smiling.

Steve frowns and curls his hand at the back of Tony's neck, pressing gently. 

"Easy, now," he says. "We're not pushing just to push, okay?"

"No," Tony says quickly. "No, I know. Sorry. I wasn't--I wasn't. But it's okay. Whatever you want--Hey, not fair. You didn't tell me what _you_ want."

"Uh," says Steve, "everything I want might mean you don't get, er, fucked today."

Tony smiles slowly. "Steve, we have a lot of days. I don't need that right now." In fact, he probably shouldn't try it right now. He's too wound up.

Steve nods. "Okay. Okay. That's fair, if you say it's fair. Um, you could just use your hand if you, but I would also like if, oh, dammit, Tony, I'm not good at this. It's embarrassing."

"I could suck you off," Tony says, partly to see Steve blush and partly because it sounds like a really great idea. He's never had sex interrupted so often by the urge to hug his partner.

Steve _does_ blush, which isn't fair, but he also says, more or less evenly, "I wish you would."

Tony shrugs off a shiver and gets himself upright enough to avoid choking and dying the world's most embarrassing death.

"Do you want me on my knees?" he inquires, digging his nails into Steve's hip. "Or...?"

Steve groans. "Yeah," he says, sitting up. "Yes. Get down here."

" _Fuck,"_ Tony says. He kind of didn't expect Steve to be good at dirty talk. He kind of doesn't think Steve _knows_ he's good at it. But Tony drops right to his knees and licks the inside of Steve's thigh experimentally.

"Oh!" Steve says, and shivers. He digs his nails into Tony's shoulders.

"Don't--don't bother warming up," he says. "I don't need warming up. Come on."  
None of this, _none of it,_ should be that hot, but Tony's pretty sure nothing's been this good in a while. "Got it," he mutters, sliding his mouth over Steve's cock.

Steve hums and scrapes his nails up Tony's neck and through his hair. "Oh, that is so much better than hands."

Tony makes a sound in the back of his throat and takes more of Steve into his mouth, using his tongue as much as he can. This is so fucking good, and he's going to tell Steve so when they're done.

Steve moans and leans back, panting and quiet for a few minutes. 

"Oh," he gasps when Tony does something particular, "Can you--deeper? I want more, Tony, I want your whole mouth. How do you _feel_ like that?"

Tony's given head before, but _not like this._ Steve talking to him is so good he wants to cry. And he can take whatever Steve wants to give him. He bobs his head a little and takes Steve all the way in, letting his eyes flutter shut as he works his mouth.

Steve tries to bite back a moan and it just trickles into a whimper. "That, that, right there, that's what I want," he says. He thrusts into Tony's mouth, and has to fight not to go too rough. Tony digs his nails into Steve's thighs, partly for leverage and partly to say _this is okay._ He nearly chokes, but he relaxes and lets Steve fuck his mouth.

Steve groans and yanks on Tony's hair, forcing him closer. Then he panics for a brief moment while he doesn't know if it was too much, and eases off just a little until he can tell if Tony's mad at him.

"I just don't think I can get enough _inside_ you," he chokes, trying to explain. "Next time I'll fuck you, wherever you want."

Tony pulls off for a second, panting. "Yes, god, next time, yes, but for now, this is--holy _hell."_ He ducks his head again and takes Steve all the way in.

Steve shouts and throws his head back. "Suck a little harder and I'll," he says. Gotta learn to get that word out. He twists his hand in Tony's hair and jerks his hips forward, hard and fast.

Tony sucks and does not pull back.

"Ohhhh," Steve says, panting, feeling like his whole body is being dragged in from the center. "I'm gonna, Tony, I mean it, in your mouth, I--" Tony tightens his mouth up around Steve's cock and Steve shouts and falls back against the couch, rigid and fucking Tony's mouth helplessly while he comes. "You didn't, you didn't, you didn't," he says, but it's pretty self-evident that Tony didn't pull away. Steve slumps against the couch with a long, shivery moan.

Tony swallows and rests his head against Steve's hip. "Clearly," he says a little shakily, "I had very little objection. God, Steve, that was _so good."_

"Oh," Steve says in a high voice. His words are slurred. "Tha's good. I, uh. I, thanks. I think you. I think I. That was really hot."

Tony crawls up onto the couch and onto Steve. "Mmm. Yeah. It really was. I think we'll be _fine."_

"Told you," Steve says. He smiles sleepily and pets Tony's face. "I didn't do anything for you yet," he points out.

"I don't need to," Tony says hurriedly, which is a total lie. He really, really needs to. But he can totally get away with being unselfish, right?

Steve frowns, which he suspects isn't all that convincing because he feels half-asleep and too contented to be grouchy. "Maybe not," he says, "But it might be nice. Are you sure you don't want me to at least try to make you feel nice? I'm very appreciative," he adds.

"I don't know if you know that everything you say is just blisteringly hot, despite making you sound like you're from the past," Tony says, blinking at Steve. "But now you know. So, yeah, I might like that. Because otherwise I might lose my mind." It isn't fair that Steve is so nice _and_ so hot.

Steve laughs because he's embarrassed, and gives Tony a kiss. "I'd like it, too. With, you know, previous disclaimers about how I'm all thumbs." He considers and his color heightens considerably. "Which is not meant to be a boast, just a condemnation," he mumbles.

"Oh, god," Tony says, laughing. "Well, trust me, keep talking like this and you'll barely _need_ your hands." He isn't sure what's wrong with him. He should be way past the point of being so easy.

"Let's test that," Steve says, and he grabs Tony's arms to kiss him more deeply, forcing his mouth open and his head back.

Tony makes a noise of surprise and pushes against Steve. He keeps expecting Steve to keep treating him like he's breakable, and this is _so much better_ than that. "Yeah," he mutters, because he can't ever stop talking.

Steve shifts away, holding Tony in place, putting most of his body well out of Tony's reach while he slides his mouth across Tony's jaw.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Let's see what we can do without touching you."

"Oh, god, that won't be at all embarrassing," Tony says, digging his fingers into the couch. "Fuck. Where did you even learn to be so sexy? No, don't answer that."

"Natural charm," Steve says, squeezing Tony's wrists. He moves his mouth down Tony's throat and pauses, breathing heavily against the rim of the Arc reactor. "Is it safe to go near this?" he asks.

"Yes," Tony says, a little too fast, because he wants to say yes to everything. But that isn't fair to Steve. So he slows down and says, "Yeah. It's a little numb near the edges, so that's...a thing to know. But it can handle being knocked around in a fight, so it can handle you."

"I won't electrocute myself?" Steve asks, quirking a smile. He doesn't, to be honest, completely understand how Tony's reactor works.

"Unlikely," Tony says, but he doesn't really want to mess with Steve right now. That could create delays. "No, promise. I put a lot of work into it."

"I believe that," Steve murmurs, and kisses around its rim. "If you can't feel it, watch?" he offers.

Tony makes a little noise in the back of his throat. No one _else_ usually puts work into...him. Not this kind. "Yeah," he breathes. "Watching is good."

"You're good," Steve tells him. He doesn't think all of Tony's public posturing has anything to do with how much he actually thinks of himself. Steve kisses a complete circle around the reactor and squeezes Tony's wrists again. "How're you feeling?" he asks. "Still need my hands?"

"I'm good," Tony echoes. "I mean, uh, do what you want. I'm okay." He takes a shuddery breath and tries not to think about all the other times he's done things like this. They don't and shouldn't relate.

"Shh, that wasn't supposed to be hard question," Steve says. He runs his hands up Tony's arms and more gently down his chest.

Tony always ( _still)_ has a split-second of panic when someone touches his chest, but it's just part of the routine now instead of something to worry about. Steve's hands are nice. Tony watches appreciatively.

"Mm," he murmurs. "You didn't learn _this_ in the army. Well, maybe you did."

"Sad to say," Steve tells him, bracing Tony's ribs with his hands and kissing along his collarbone, "when I was a puny young man with high ideals no one found me all that enticing. So, yes, in fact, all I know about making love I learned in the army. That's the shallowness of people, I suppose."

Tony doesn't remember people ever not wanting him, probably because he was always rich and famous, at least by proxy. Ugh. "People," he agrees, "are incredibly shallow. Oh, your mouth is great. I mean, just amazing."

"Is there somewhere you want it?" Steve asks, low, running his fingers across Tony's back.

"Shit," Tony whispers. "I, wow, oh god. I do. I really do. But will you...? Will you? I mean, a lot of people won't." He gives Steve a messy, hopeful smile. He hasn't done this a lot.

"I could just hold you down and let you think about how much you'd like it," Steve says innocently. His hands tighten at Tony's elbows.

Tony gasps and squirms against Steve, searching for friction that isn't there. "Oh, uh, yeah, that could also--oh." He looks for words and doesn't find any.

"I told you I want to see what I can do without touching you," Steve says, and pushes him down, careful that his body doesn't brush Tony's. "Not that I don't want to touch you," he says. "Because, oh, I do."

Tony makes a sound that is undeniably a whimper. "Oh, you're an asshole. Total asshole. I take back all the times I called you nice." He feels really, really naked.

Steve swallows and reminds himself to be _brave_ and not mess up because it's really very much all right, just new as well. He grabs Tony's knees and looks down between his legs and says, "Do you want me to be nice, Tony?"

“Nnn," Tony says. He considers for a very, very short moment shoving Steve off and putting on ten layers of clothes and escaping, but he knows better. "Nice," he says breathlessly. "No, I don't want that." He hopes Steve gets that he _does,_ in the end. He hopes that's implied. He's bad at saying what he means.

Steve swallows again. What he's doing is--there's no room to mess up, and it's a lot of subtext to throw at and get out of someone like Tony when you don't even know the text yet.

He says, "Not nice is what you're getting right now, isn't it? Someone looking at you and not letting you touch?"

"Yeah," Tony says, because he wants so badly to help, he just _doesn't remember how._ "Sorry," he says, "being honest is kind of a foreign concept for me. In this department. I realize that's not very helpful."

"I'll work it out," Steve says. "Just as long as neither of us runs away before I can get the hang of it." He leans up to kiss Tony's mouth again, resting one splayed hand on his stomach.

Tony files that way to remind himself of when he needs it. "Deal," he says. "Just, god, I want--I want. This is good." He doesn't take it slow that often.

"Good," Steve echoes, and repositions himself so his shoulders are between Tony's knees. He hooks his hand under one and kisses the other, his mouth creeping slowly up Tony's thigh.

Tony makes a strangled noise. "Oh, god, come on. More." He spreads his legs wider and says, entirely by accident, "Can't believe you want this."

"Tony," Steve says, exasperated, "that's like expecting me to be mad that someone gave me a...a banana split instead of a sundae. Please don't over-analyze that analogy."

Tony laughs, probably more than he should, _probably_ because he's very relieved. "I can't even respond to that. None of my blood is in my brain."

"Okay," Steve says. "Well, just. Hold on. I mean, hold on to me." He doesn't wait for a response before he ducks his head and put his mouth back on Tony's inner thigh. He can feel Tony, jittery, under him, and he can feel himself getting aroused again even though he just came.

Tony grabs Steve's hair, fingers tightening a little convulsively. "Fuck, oh god, apparently absurdly sensitive there. But it's good. It's good, do that."

"Don't be too bossy or you'll think you're in charge," Steve says. It's just play, it has to be, because Tony is completely in charge whether he thinks so or not. Steve is well aware that he's wrapped around Tony's little finger.

"I'm always in charge," Tony says, but his voice breaks in the middle. He coughs and swallows, embarrassed. He doesn't think he's wrong, though. If he actually weren't in control, he'd be panicking a lot harder.

"Mm," Steve says noncommittally against Tony's leg, and slides his hand up Tony's other thigh nearly to his ass.

"Jesus," Tony moans. "You're way more of a tease than I thought you'd be."

"I learned the value of patience early on," Steve says. "Also the value of going after what I wanted." His fingers slip between Tony's legs and press against him, pushing and asking at the same time.

For a second, Tony's too overwhelmed to say anything. 

"Please," he manages finally. "Oh, please, yeah." It doesn't matter if he sounds stupid here. And he can't _help_ it. He shuts his eyes and takes another second to get control of himself.

Steve nods, which is awkward, but he's anxious. He tries to feel his way around without making things uncomfortable in one way or another, waiting for Tony to react. In one way or another.

He is really not good at this. This is a terrifying plan he's come up with.

"It's okay," Tony says vaguely, his words slurred. Whatever Steve is tentatively doing is very good. "You're okay. I, uh, I'm kind of close anyway. You don't have to if you don't want. I, I don't--I just need something, god, Steve." He takes another breath. Nope Not losing control at all.

"Okay," Steve says, more of a croak. He strokes down with two fingers, finds where Tony is wet, fits his fingers flat between to spread him open just a little. ( _He_ is still _him,_ oh, God, Steve is relieved that he’s not messing up.) He's hardly breathing, himself, and he doesn't know if he's dizzier with fear or his renewed need to be fucked.

"Yes," Tony says. "Yes, yesyesyes, that, do that." He puts his hands behind his head so he won't try to move Steve.

Steve is breathing hard. He puts all his attention on moving his fingers back and forth, steady and not too heavy, he _hopes_ not too heavy. "Do you want me i-inside?" he asks.

"Easy, soldier," Tony whispers. "We don't need you panicking. Yeah. Inside." He hasn't actually done that since--in a while.

Steve huffs a laugh. "I won't panic," he says. "I can--" He refocuses and tilts his fingers, and works one slowly deeper. He glances up at Tony's face about halfway, waiting to see where it's bad, if it's bad.

Tony spreads his legs and gasps. It's a little uncomfortable, but mostly good, and the discomfort melts away pretty fast with Steve doing those things with his fingers. "I'm good," he manages. "I can take a lot."

"You say that kind of _thing_ a lot," Steve says. He pushes his finger sharply the rest of the way, his knuckles against the crease of Tony's thigh. He pulls out slowly and thrusts in again, a little rough. "I'm really not interested in what you _can_ take," he says. "Just what you should. What you want. What makes you actually happy." His finger moves with his words, his other hand scraping Tony's leg. About half of his mind is filled with embarrassed horror at everything he's doing and saying. While Steve is talking, Tony's eyes start to prickle horribly with tears. He can't handle Steve saying all this at the same time he's _doing_ all that. Tony will fall apart.

"How the hell should I know what that is?" he says after a second. He's too far gone to be embarrassed that his voice is rough with the beginning of tears. Steve, watching, tries not to show how alarmed he is. He curls his finger inside Tony. 

"All I'm saying," Steve answers shakily, "is I want you stop trying to give me everything just because _other_ people might assume they're--entitled to it." He anxiously kisses the top of Tony's knee.

Tony moans. Okay, Steve _gets_ it. He doesn't know the whole story--and someday he'll probably need to--but he does understand, and that's the important thing. "No," Tony says, grinding down against Steve's fingers carelessly and hard, "but it's fine. I mean, I promise I want to give you everything _anyway."_

Steve whines without meaning to, grabs at Tony's leg, pushes another finger in against the first.

"This is so terrifying," he says in a low voice. "This is so damn terrifying. You are the best thing that's happened to me on this side of the ice and I didn't know you'd _want_...I didn't know I _could_..." He's fucking Tony with his fingers, feeling him get wetter, and feeling like he might pass out from how hot and how frightening this is.

"I want you," Tony says, and then again, because he's talking too fast and not articulating carefully, "I _want_ you, oh god, I want you and you make me happy and I need you, and, fuck, so close, Steve, please--"

"Which part of me d'you want?" Steve says in a rush.

Tony tries and fails to make his eyes focus. "Fuck me," he pants. "I know you said _wait,_ but I want--I mean, if you want--" He breaks off with a whine.

Steve scrabbles his way up onto his hands and knees. "I can," he says. "I mean, and I want, I." He shuts himself up and pulls out his fingers and lines his cock up against Tony's hole. "I'm gonna," he says, and pushes in.

Tony throws his head back and makes a sound that's not a word. _This_ is what he needed. "Nnn, yes, fuck me," he practically sobs.

"Oh, god," Steve moans. "Oh, god, yes, I am, I am." He drops down on his forearms, thrusting harder than he means to because he can't stop himself. His face ends up mashed against Tony's reactor, and he thinks he drools on it and he can't. Think. Enough to make it matter.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut and wipes viciously at the tears he somehow wound up with on his cheeks. He spreads his legs wider for Steve and jerks against him, muttering pleas under his breath.

Steve hoists himself up again and reaches forward to kiss Tony's face and mouth and chin. "I want t'give you what you want," he says. "Oh, god, better than your _mouth."_ If Tony comes, Steve's going to follow.

Tony has never been fucked like this and had it feel this _okay._ He can't--

"Oh," he says. "Oh--" And then he's coming, body spasming against Steve's. Tony's voice is in Steve's ear and Tony's body is slamming against his, and Steve can feel Tony tighten around Steve's cock. 

"Oh _god,"_ he breathes painfully, and only just remembers to pull away and make himself come in his hand.

Tony spends a few long moments making stupid, whimpery sounds before he can collect himself enough to say, "It would have been okay if you'd--I mean, that was very polite. But it would have been okay. For next time." He smiles widely at Steve.

"It won't make you...?" Steve asks. "I mean, because." He blushes, even though by now it is clearly too late to blush. He looks down at Tony and thinks dizzily, _Gosh._

"Unlikely," Tony says, letting scientific straightforwardness creep back into his voice as he composes himself again. "Really, really unlikely. The hormones plus my age mean that statistically...yeah, no surprise babies, at least."

"Your babies would be adorable," Steve says. He grabs Tony's hands and pulls him upright. "They'd probably be born with moustaches. But I'm very relieved to hear they're hypothetical."

Tony laughs and collapses against Steve happily. "You don't want to see our moustaches when they're in progress. Horrible every time." He kisses the side of Steve's head and turns the kiss into a nuzzle.

Steve glows. "Listen," he says, and it comes out cute. "Er, listen," he says again with something more resembling authority, "we've already soiled my beautiful couch. I would really like to soil my beautiful sheets next, for a nap at least. Tony, do you want to help me with soiling my beautiful sheets?"

"I would very much like that, Captain," Tony says seriously. He grabs Steve's hand and squeezes. "Oof. Weak knees. Definitely time for a nap. You're really something."

Steve hefts himself up. "You too. Very much you too. Come on, I'll show you to my room that you probably designed anyway."

"I'm sure you've made it your own," Tony says confidently, leaning on Steve and letting Steve lean on him.

"As one does," Steve agrees. He squeezes Tony's shoulder and shows him where bed is.

Tony crawls into bed immediately, mostly because his legs are shaking. He only just has time to register how weird it is to feel comfortable in someone else's bed before he's drifting off to sleep.

Steve climbs in after him and thinks again, _Gosh._ Most of him is still waiting to catch up. Whatever he's got, he likes, but he still isn't sure how any of it happened.

Which is not the kind of question you answer when you're at this point with things. At this point, you go the hell to bed so you can wake up and feel glad about it. So that is what he does.


	13. steve rogers has something in his eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve isn't the type to imagine things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mention of PTSD

Things are so good with Tony that for a few days, Steve forgets to be worried about any of the dangerous people he and his friends have to contend with on a regular basis. Bruce is on his feet again, Loki hasn't made an appearance since the library, and the worst they've had to deal with have been a few small-time, very local criminals.

The appearance of Hydra puts a bit of a damper on Steve's mood, but the Avengers deal with them just fine, and Steve reminds himself that old enemies don't have to dig up old wounds.

Except maybe they do. He doesn't know if it's Hydra or the fact that he and Tony are all right that makes him start seeing things. A few times. In battle. Going out to lunch. There's a familiar shadow, wherever Steve goes, and it makes his gut clench up to see it, because if he tells Tony what he thinks he's seeing, he’s afraid Tony will be heartbroken.

He's seeing Bucky.

Tony calls a meeting to follow up on the Hydra problem, but his heart's not really in it. Hydra doesn't require much more than straightforward action, and Tony's pretty sure he's got a handle on their objectives.

He wants a real enemy to fight, something big enough that he'll stop worrying about how distracted Steve's been lately.

"Well," he says when they're all in the meeting room, "any new intel, anyone? Or anything else to report, related or otherwise?"

"I took down an espionage ring last week," Natasha says. "I have brought you all the details." She waves a folder at Tony and adds. "That is all."

"I think we beat our record for hitting people in stupid hats," Bruce says. "Speaking of which, not a peep from Loki or Doom, so I guess we can just leave that where it is until our tripwire goes off."

"Uh," Tony says, still derailed from Natasha's . . . efficiency. "Yeah, good point. I feel like everyone's been conducting business without me."

"Only occasionally," Thor says, smiling. "For the most part we have been battling 'Hydra.'"

Hank says brightly, "I think I've found a way in which ants can be used to efficiently sabotage Hydra technology."

"Ew," Jan says, at the same time Tony says, "Are you kidding?"

He pauses. Okay, have to be nice to everyone on the team. "I'll . . . read your report," he amends.

"Great!" Hank says.

"Really, great," Clint agrees. "Hey, Bruce, what tripwire do we have for the Latverian Loonies? I don't remember us setting anything up."

"We didn't," Bruce says. "Our tripwire is the Fantastic Four."

"See?" Tony says, feeling harassed. "No one tells me anything."

"Did you really need to be told?" Jan asks, laughing. "I feel bad for those guys. Kind of. Almost. Well, maybe, like, the Thing."

"It's a joke," Bruce reassures Tony. "Or, not a joke, because it will work, but you know what I mean. Um. Right? Because Reed Richards can't leave Doctor Doom alone for more than a week at a time, so his people skills are like an early warning system for us. I can't imagine he's better with crazy gods than crazy men who think they're gods." He shrugs apologetically to Thor.

"So, you're totally a genius," Jan says enthusiastically. "God, I can't believe how obsessive he is about Doom. Weird, right? Do you think they're doing it?"

"Could you please focus?" Tony says, although people saying nasty things about Reed always makes his day. "It's a good plan. It's solid. We're good. Hey, Steve, any news? Anything?"

"Er," says Steve. "No."

Tony frowns and looks at Steve. "No? I mean, you don't have to have anything. Most of us don't have anything. But are you good? You're being quiet."

"C'mon, guys, keep your relationship stuff out of meetings," Jan says, but it doesn't sound like she means it.

"It's not relationship stuff; it's team welfare," Tony says a little snappishly. "But clearly he's fine."

Bruce looks uncomfortable. Clint looks interested. Natasha says, "We have done very well this week, yes? No evil has taken over the world and several evils have been put accurately in prison. I am not ashamed to be a part of this team."

"And I don't think any of us has talked to Nick Fury in at least a week," Bruce adds. "Go us."

"Nick is really just a supervisor," Tony says quickly. It's his team. His. Not Nick's.

"Then all is well," Thor says firmly. "Is it not?"

"I meant it," Bruce mumbles. He can't help feeling that his version of comfortable never quite translates, when he's talking to Tony. Clearly he has to adjust something so Tony doesn't think Bruce still hates him.

"Seems good to me," Clint shrugs.

"Good," Tony says, even more wound up than when he called the meeting. "Then I guess we're okay. We need to finish cleaning up Hydra, though. I expected more from them, honestly, given their rep."

"I'm sure they'll come back and bite us sooner or later," Clint says cheerfully. "Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, just in case we were getting off too easy," Tony sighs. He's feeling lately like everything in his life is too easy, which is just winding him up. He's probably just being paranoid about Steve. Nothing horrible is going to happen because they slept together.

"Are we done?" Natasha asks. "Can I give you this?" She waves her folder again.

Bruce resumes looking furtive.

"Sure, I guess," Tony sighs, reaching for it. At least someone on this team is efficient. "Bruce, you good? You look edgy. Although that could just be you."

"Just me," Bruce says, flashing him a smile.

"Great," Tony says, slightly disarmed by the smile. "In that case, I guess everyone's okay and we're . . . good." He doesn't quite believe it. It seems unlikely.

"Yup," says Clint. "Except that I'm hungry. Lunch?"

"Lunch!" Thor exclaims. "Yes, a fine plan!" He claps Clint on the shoulder. "I could eat a horse." He pauses. "This is your mortal expression, is it not? I don't mean a real horse."

"That would be expensive," Bruce agrees.

"Let's find something else," Clint says.

"Okay," Tony says to no one in particular, waving his hands vaguely. He's excellent with people, but he's really bad at being in charge. "Steve, wanna grab lunch?"

"Er," says Steve, startled, "yes?" He wonders if the meeting was adjourned without his hearing it. He really needs to be more focused. He really needs to talk to Tony.

He doesn't want to talk to Tony about that.

Tony goes over to Steve--he tries to keep a professional distance during meetings--and lays a hand on his arm. "Hey," he says, lowering his voice, "you really okay?"

"Let's go to lunch," Steve says. "We could order in."

"Great," Tony says, relieved. "Sure, let's go to my room. Or yours, if you'd rather. Somewhere quiet?" God, he really hopes nothing's wrong. Something feels wrong.

"Yours?" Steve suggests. "I'd just like to get out of..." He looks around at their boisterous teammates.

Tony nods. "No kidding." He takes Steve by the elbow and steers him away. He fully understands the impulse to retreat as far from other people as possible. "We'll eat and hang out. Chat. Or not. No chatting necessary."

Steve puts his hand on Tony's. "Sweet," he says. "That's what you are." He feels a little more relaxed as they wander back towards Tony's quarters.

Oh, good. If Tony is sweet, he's probably not getting dumped. Or anything equally horrible. He takes Steve back to his room without saying much, just in case he accidentally makes something worse. Yeah, he's definitely getting paranoid.

As soon as the door shuts, Steve says, "Oh, lord, I'm sorry, Tony," because Tony looks like he thinks Steve is about to leave him for someone younger and and more physically correct, or whatever nonsense. "It's nothing bad. It's probably not even anything."

Tony takes a shuddery breath. "Oh, yeah," he says. "Okay." He leans against the arm of the couch so he doesn't do something stupid like let his legs give out. Relief. Nothing is ruined. "So, what's up? Problem-solving time?"

"I don't know," Steve confesses. "I--listen, this is ridiculous, I know it is, but I've been seeing something. Someone. The last week or so."

Tony frowns. Steve isn't the type to imagine things. "Maybe you'd better explain," he says.

Steve moves around to sit down heavily on the couch. It is not at all saggy, unlike his own. "The last few Hydra encounters," he says. "And once when I was going out for lunch. And once when I was taking an evening stroll. I thought I saw someone watching me."

Tony wants to settle next to him, but he's too tense, so he just shifts to perch on the arm of the couch. "Yeah? I wouldn't be surprised. We're Avengers, and your identity is public. Besides, you're famous in your own right, and you have enough enemies."

"I," Steve starts, but his courage fails him. "He's familiar," he finishes lamely.

Tony frowns. He feels cold, and a shiver curls itself around his shoulders, waiting to shake him. "Yeah?"

"It might just be Hydra, stirring up old memories," Steve offers.

"Since when are you that fanciful?" Tony swallows. "Come on, Steve. You're the most level-headed guy I know. Is this really your imagination?"

"It has to be," Steve blurts, and then clasps his hands together. There's no other explanation. And the memories aren't that old.

Tony puts his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Hey. Easy. It's okay. We'll work through this." God, he hopes they'll work through this.

"What this?" Steve demands. "I can't be seeing what I think I'm seeing. Maybe someone's following me, but it must be something else. Bucky is dead."

Tony gets a little jolt of panic at the name. He knew. He guessed. But it still jolts him to hear. He swallows. "But so were you," he says. That's not what he meant to say.

Steve doesn't know what expression is on his own face, but he can't imagine it's the right one for reassuring Tony.

Whatever panic Tony's feeling is rapidly eclipsed by wanting to protect Steve. "It's okay," he says firmly, swinging himself onto the couch next to Steve. "It's probably your imagination, and if not, we'll _deal_ with it. Okay?"

"How will I deal with it, if it's him?" Steve asks. He imagines everything that's wrong with this possible scenario, as soon as he asks. It suddenly seems unfixable. "If it's him, why wouldn't he come any closer?"

Honestly, Tony doesn't have a good answer. All of his answers, the more he thinks about it, are worse and worse. If Bucky's alive and not just showing up like Steve did, something deeply fucked-up and possibly disastrous is going on.

"We need to get to the bottom of this," he says.

"Okay," Steve says, but he's ashamed to realize he doesn't mean it. He doesn't want to find out, because he doesn't entirely want to have to deal with it if someone he's already mourned and--moved on from...is alive again. No matter what he wants.

Tony puts his arm around Steve cautiously. "I'll look into it if I can," he says. "And you might want to talk to Nick." Much as he hates to admit it, Fury has all the info on everything. If anyone knows what's going on, he does.

"Okay," Steve says again. He wants to say something reassuring and bold, _Don't worry, Tony, even if it is Bucky I'm not about to leave you!_ but he can't. He can't. He doesn't know what he'd do if his delusions turn out to be real, and he doesn't know what it means if his mind has made itself up to put Bucky in every shadow.

Making plans and problem-solving usually make Tony feel better, but he's pretty sure he's not going to feel better about this one until they figure out what's going on. He doesn't even know what he wants to be true. If it's Bucky...well, probably a lot of things will change. "Oof," he says.

"Yeah," Steve says, and then grabs Tony's arm. "It isn't fair," he says roughly. "Either I'm going crazy or I'm not, and no matter what it is, it's--things are going well. I was happy here."

Tony cringes a little at the past tense. Wow, did everything really get ruined this quickly? He's going to kill Bucky if it turns out he's alive.

"I know," he forces himself to say. "But we'll deal with this. Maybe you have some PTSD you're not aware of. We can work through that. Or--or whatever."

"Oh, sure," Steve says with a pained laugh. "Just toss me at a psychiatrist. I'll come out the other side just fine and then you can sleep with me without worrying I'm thinking about a dead man."

A small and vital part of him says, _What are you DOING?_ But it only says so after he's already said this incredibly unpleasant thing.

Tony feels sick. "Yeah," he says for what feels like the hundredth unhelpful time. He knew this would happen, he _knew this would happen_ , but he still--oh, he's so stupid. "Well. That's. Do you _want_ that? Or would you rather think about him?"

"Tony!" Steve says, paling. "That's not what I meant. I meant there's something wrong with me, okay? I meant--look, it's probably stress, and this is probably self-sabotage, because you make me happy and I still feel...I still feel guilty about him. That's all."

Somehow, even dealing with this horrible potential disaster, Steve can be rational. "Oh," Tony says, "god, Steve, you shouldn't be the one comforting me. It's okay."

"Yeah," Steve says. "I'm sure it is. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say anything, I knew it would upset you and you have a right to be upset, it's not even anything to be worried about."

"Hey," Tony says sternly. "Steve. Shut up." He kisses Steve, quickly and hard, then pulls back to look him in the eye. "I've got you."

The thing about this, Steve thinks, horribly guilty, is that all things considered, it's _better_ than Bucky. Even if Bucky is alive and well and waiting to resume their undercover affair, even though Steve still--well, it doesn't matter. Because Steve wants _this._

He feels like a traitor to Bucky for that, and a traitor to Tony for feeling like a traitor.

Tony rubs Steve's shoulder a little. "Talk to Nick," he suggests again. "And keep your eyes open. Use those soldier's instincts. If it happens again, let me know. No matter what it turns out to be, we'll deal with it together. Promise."

"Yessir," Steve says, because it's easier if Tony is his commander than his lover.

Tony grins, almost a full and genuine grin. "Great. Then we have a plan." He feels a little better. Unless he thinks about it too hard.

"Tony," Steve says tiredly. He leans his head on Tony's shoulder.

Tony kisses Steve's ear. "S'okay. Don't worry." _There is no way,_ he tells himself, _that Bucky is alive and well._ He feels bad for being relieved by that thought.

"You're a very good man," Steve says, wiggling his arms around Tony's waist. "I'll talk to Nick. And maybe I _will_ get that psychiatrist."

"Good, you can succeed where I failed. Get that PTSD all taken care of," Tony says blithely. Whoops.

Steve laughs. "You," he says, "are incorrigible. Now, can we have lunch?"

"Absolutely," Tony says. Good. Lunch will be good. It's a start.


	14. bucky barnes is here part-time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah?" he whispers. "Then what am I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: brainwashed Bucky.

The Winter Soldier slides through the shadows as silently as he can with his heavy boots. The metal of his hand keeps clicking against his gun when he moves. He should look into that. When the mission is done.

The target (Rogers, Steven--Captain America) is walking a brisk pace, just a little faster than the Winter Soldier's. He's acting nervous, but the Winter Solider isn't going to get cocky. He's been warned about that.

Steve realizes that what he's doing is not what Tony told him to do, and _not_ what Nick Fury told him to do. In fact, what both of them have told him to do is to avoid being alone, taking risks, or being out of contact with the rest of the team. Steve is breaking two of these three rules simply by going outside for a walk at night.

Which isn't what he's doing anyway. What he's doing is acting like bait.

As stupid as he knows it is, the not knowing has been gnawing at him for days, and he isn't being fair to Tony or the others, and he isn't being kind to himself. He can barely sleep. If no one shows up tonight, at least maybe the cold air will knock him out when he gets home.

The Winter Soldier picks up the pace. His boots are making more noise now, but it doesn't matter. He's almost in range, and for the first time, the two of them are alone. No mess, no fuss, no questions asked. He can get in and get out. He ticks off the instructions in his head and ignore the growing feeling in his gut that something is amiss.

Steve hears the footsteps behind him, and for a second he can't breathe or choose. It's New York. Even in the middle of the night, there could be someone other than a foolhardy superhero and an imaginary assassin on the streets.

He spins around, and nearly gags on his breath.

"Oh," he says.

The Winter Soldier raises his gun, but much, much more slowly than he should. Something is wrong.

"Gotcha," he says.

"Bucky," Steve says. He sees Bucky's arm, and the gun in his hands, and he can see perfectly well that there's no scapegrace smile on his old partner's face, but he can't immediately make himself _defend_ himself.

Steve is possibly the one person in the world Bucky would never hurt.

The Winter Soldier frowns. That's... "Who?" he asks. Stupid question. Wrong question. He doesn't lower the gun. This man is looking at him all wrong for someone who's about to get shot.

"James Buchanan Barnes," Steve elaborates, heart in his throat. "I guess you must be real, one way or another. I wouldn't hallucinate a version of you who wants to kill me."

The name rings and echoes through the Winter Soldier's head. The name hurts, and it feels cold. He still doesn't slower the gun.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says mechanically. (He always talks too much. He should just shoot the guy.) He shifts his shoulders uncomfortably and smooths over the thoughts that seem to belong to someone else.

"What's your name?" Steve asks. "What do you call yourself?"

"The Winter Soldier," he answers. _Asshole,_ he adds in his head.

"That's not a name, is it?" Steve says. "Unless your whole body is made of metal like that arm of yours, it doesn't seem like a very likely thing for a parent to call their kid."

The Winter Soldier cocks his gun, something he should have already done. He's slipping. (If he keeps slipping like this, he's in trouble. No good to anyone if he can't _focus._ )

"We don't use names," he says flatly. "And it's not gonna matter in five seconds."

"You look like a friend of mine," Steve says doggedly, "that gun of yours notwithstanding. Where'd you come from? Why are you trying to kill me?"

"The people I work for you want you dead," the Winter Soldier says. "That enough for you? Five seconds are up, pal." He doesn't like the way Rogers is looking at him.

Steve raises his shield slightly. "No," he says. "That's not enough. When you were growing up, did you have a name then?"

The Winter Soldier doesn't think about that. He doesn't need to. He just wakes up, shoots whoever he's supposed to shoot, and goes back to sleep.

"J--no," he says, the word starting and stopping itself without his permission.

"You did," Steve tells him. "Come on, don't tell me you were born just like this. You must have lost that arm sometime. How did that happen? Bucky Barnes was in a--was in a plane crash in the second World War. Where were you?"

The Winter Soldier doesn't flinch, or at least he doesn't show it. 

"Stasis," he says slowly. "Asleep. I was _asleep._ I don't know what you think I'm..." He realizes the gun isn't pointing at Rogers's chest anymore, and he corrects the error.

" _Stasis,"_ Steve repeats, aghast. " _That's_ how you look so young? Who _did_ that to you?"

"Huh?" the Winter Solider says. He clears his throat. "The Russians, I guess. What's it to you?"

"The _Russians?"_ Steve says. "Those contemptible...Soldier, you're going to try to kill me anyway, so you may as well answer--what's the first thing you, uh...remember?"

The Winter Soldier doesn't like being spoken to this way. It's making him uncomfortable, because it feels--

"I don't know," he snaps. "Waking up, I guess. This time, or the time before. It's kind of what I do."

Steve says, "I'm not saying this to save my life, but I think you're my long-dead partner."

The Winter Soldier smiles. "Heard that one before." He hasn't.

"Yeah, right," Steve says, not smiling back. "You're a crack shot. I doubt any of your targets have had much of a chance to tell you anything."

"You keep talking like you know me," the Winter Soldier says. "But I can't remember you. Explain that one, Captain." He feels sick.

Steve shakes his head. "I can't," he says. "But then, you're supposed to have died seventy years ago and you're threatening me with a gun. It's a little disorienting. My faculties aren't at their best." He takes a small step forward. "You can't think you've only ever been this age, doing this job, with no past and no name and no life."

"I don't think about it," the Winter Soldier snaps. Not really true. Even when he's got the bulleted list of mission-facts-targets running in his head, he sometimes wonders. He's not _dumb._

"You never wonder about yourself?" Steve asks. He takes another step. "Do you want this job? Did anyone ever ask you if you wanted to kill people? Do they pay you? Do you have a family?"

The Winter Soldier hesitates. He can see what Rogers is doing, but he can't stop him from coming closer. "I do it because I do it," he says steadily. "Because that's what I do. It's what I'm _for._ What are you for?" He sneers, and his face feels like a mask. He can't even remember what he looks like.

"Generally?" Steve says. "Protecting the American people and the liberties that her inhabitants all deserve. Among which, I might add, is the right not to be shot dead on a dark street by a young man who doesn't know what he's fighting for."

The Winter Soldier takes a step back and nearly drops his gun. Something in Rogers' voice, his words, his stance throws him wildly off-balance. "Don't--" he says sharply, but he doesn't know don't _what._ He swings the gun up again and snaps, "I've had it with you. No more games. You're done."

"I know you," Steve says, a lot more steadily than he expects. Something about this situation is better than all the worrying. He's sure, absolutely sure, that this man is Bucky, and seeing him like this, from the wrong end of a gun, makes Steve into the eye of a storm. "I know you, and I'm not playing games."

The Winter Soldier doesn't remember fear. But this is it. Being seen, being _known,_ it feels foreign in a way even the memories that sometimes try to scratch their way to the surface don't.

"You don't know me," he says. His voice comes out as a croak.

Steve shakes his head. "No one made me forget," he says. "I didn't go down as hard as you did. No one took my name away when I woke up. I know you."

Bucky drops his gun.

"I'm going to kill you," he says nonsensically, pointlessly. He can't piece anything together, and his head is pounding.

"Hang in there," Steve says. He takes a third step forward. "You have had a life. I don't know where it's gone to, but it happened. You're not just some machine that gets taken out of the box to kill on someone else's orders."

Truth be told, Bucky--the Winter Soldier has never liked that part. He's always known it for what it was, and it's never sat right.

"Yeah?" he whispers. "Then what am I?"

"You're a soldier," Steve says, "but you work on your own terms. You work for a reason. You work to protect people."

"Not likely." He can't remember, but he can _feel_ the memories, like a wave pushing up against a wall. The wall is metal. The waves aren't getting through.

Steve says, "I'm not saying you weren't a vicious little bastard."

Bucky laughs and smiles cookedly. "Oh yeah? Sounds like it." He suddenly wants something he hasn't wanted in a long time. He wants to touch Steve. ( _Steve._ ) Specifically, he wants to hang on to Steve's arm so he doesn't pass out from this headache.

"Yeah," Steve says mildly. "It was good, though. Sometimes I was a little too noble. You always did get the job done." His mouth quirks into something painful. "I thought I watched you die getting the job done."

Bucky sobs out a breath. Then he really does reach forward and grab Steve's arm.

Steve catches him. "Steady, there, soldier," he says quietly.

"Don't," Bucky says, and his throat hurts with how much he wants to cry. "Don't, don't, don't." His headache is blinding now, so bad he can barely stand.

"Can't help it, partner," Steve says. "I already let you go once. You're gonna be mad enough at me already without me abandoning you."

Bucky cries out, the pain in his head unbearable, and his knees buckle. All he can remember suddenly is falling, and the phantom pain he sometimes gets in his arm is back worse than ever.

Steve has to fall to one knee to catch him. He lowers him to the sidewalk, arm bracing his back. "Hold on," he says. "Hold on. You're gonna be okay. I'm gonna call somebody and they're not the enemy, all right?"

"Like you'd know," Bucky mutters, eyes squeezes shut. Everyone's the enemy. He doesn't even know what flag he's following. Because there's always a flag.

"I would know," Steve says. "I don't belong here any more than you do, soldier, but I'm safe because of them. Safe, and I've got a home." He brushes back Bucky's hair and feels an awful pang of everything that's not happening and isn't going to happen.

"Hold on," he says again, and pulls out his phone. He hesitates for a second, because he doesn't know who the safe person is to call in this case. Finally he hits a button and waits for Tony to pick up.

Tony only takes a ring and a half to pick up. "Yeah?" He was actually asleep for once, but he's wide awake now.

"Tony," Steve says, to the point. "It's him. We need a car. He's poorly off."

"Oh, god," Tony says. Not the call he was expecting. At all. Doesn't matter, though. There's a problem and now he's going to solve it.

"Be there in ten," he says. "Keep him out of sight if you can move him. We want this quiet for now."

"Roger," Steve says, and hangs up. "Hey, soldier," he says. "I'm not going to try anything to hurt you, but we'd be better off out of sight. I'm gonna move us towards that alley you came out of, all right?"

These are words Bucky can deal with. He nods, but that just sets his head off with a new round of even worst pain, so he stops. "Yeah, don't worry. It's okay." He isn't even sure what he's saying, but it sounds right. His teeth won't stop chattering.

Steve hoists him up and more or less drags him back to the alley. The “Winter Soldier” doesn't sound like the person he did ten minutes ago. He sounds like Bucky. It's terrifying. 

"We're here," Steve says. "We're gonna sit tight until a car comes for us. I'll tell you if it's not all right. Copy that?"

"Y-yeah." Bucky cries out as he actually _feels_ his thoughts start to overwrite themselves. He can't usually catch them at it, but suddenly everything is blank and clear like a screen front of his eyes. "Don't worry, partner, gonna beat this thing," he says as steadily as he can.

"Christ," Steve mutters. He wants to find the people who did this and rip them apart. "You bet you are," he says a little more loudly, and settles in to wait. The worst part is knowing that when he gets home, the worst part won't be over.

Bucky nuzzles Steve's arm a little, just to feel better, and because talking seems to make it worse. He hears a car pull up too fast for it to sound safe, but he can't think past the throbbing in his head.

"That's our ride," Steve tells him. "I'm gonna pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, too fast for whatever's in his head to like it. "Can't stop you." That doesn't help.

That's not what Steve wants to hear, but he makes do. He picks Bucky up and carries him to the car. "Back door, please, Tony," he says, nodding to Happy at the same time.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at too much new light and noise, and he curls his metal arm against his chest protectively. He immediately feels sick and has to open his eyes again.

"Jesus," the man with the offensive goatee whispers.

"Not now," Steve says brusquely. He levers Bucky into the back seat and slides in next to him. He keeps physical contact because it seems to help, and he doesn't think about how he feels about it because he can't afford this fallout until neither Bucky nor Tony is there to see it. 

"Bring us home," he says. "Hurry."

"Happy?" Tony says. "Fast. But preferably gentle." He glances at Bucky. Bucky doesn't like that look. He reminds Bucky of...someone.

"Hang in there," Steve murmurs again, and he squeezes Bucky's shoulder. "Feel free to shut your eyes; the situation's under control."

Bucky's body relaxes before he even tells it to. So, that's an order. He can obey an order. Easy. He shuts his eyes. "Yessir," he mutters under his breath.

Steve swallows carefully, and waits until Bucky is seemingly settled before he glances up to find Tony's eyes peering at him anxiously in the sun visor mirror. He smiles reassuringly. _We've got this. We're partners,_ is what he's trying to say. He doesn't know if any of them believes it.

"So," Tony says softly, once they've driven a few miles. He tries to make his voice come out normal, but his heart is still pounding. Bucky doesn't look anything like he did on the posters and in the promotional stuff Tony's dad had lying around. He's older, for one. But not old enough. None of this makes sense, and all Tony can do is try to meet Steve's eyes without blinking.

"I have no idea," Steve says. "We should talk about it at home. Do we have--is there someone who can take care of him?" This is the kind of thing the Avengers should be equipped for, maybe, but they're new; this hasn't happened yet. He doesn't know if there was a contingency plan.

"Uh," Tony says. "Specifically? No. It depends. Does he need a doctor? Or..."

Bucky's eyes flicker open and he looks furtively at Tony. "No thanks, Stark," he mutters, before closing his eyes with a pained expression.

Well, that was unexpected.

Steve looks at Bucky and then at Tony, startled. "Who's that you said, soldier?" he asks Bucky.

"Looks like him, doesn't he?" Bucky says grimly through clenched teeth. "Same ugly mustache. Same smirk."

Tony's definitely not smirking.

Steve puts the pieces together. "That man's long gone," he says. "And this is not the same guy. He'll help. And he won't be so damned smug about it, either."

Bucky frowns and nods, eyes still squeezed shut. He looks like he's concentrating hard.

As if Bucky wasn't bringing up enough horrible shit for Tony and Steve to deal with. Now this, too. Tony just wants to be home so they can find out what's going on and so he can talk to Steve.

"I'll try to help," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

"He's not military," Steve says. "He's the head of my team. He's trustworthy. We're going back to base now. We're gonna work out what's going on, and we're gonna keep you safe. You're not a prisoner. Copy that?"

Bucky makes a sharp little noise that Tony can't decipher and then goes quiet.

"Did he attack you?" Tony asks after a moment.

"He was ordered to," Steve says softly. He lays his hand against Bucky's face. His temple is warm and his cheek damp with sweat. "But no. He didn't."

Tony swallows hard. That...is not anything like an answer he wanted. "That's good," he says carefully.

"I hope so," Steve says, stroking Bucky's hair. "Thanks for coming."

"Uh huh." Tony thumps the dashboard with the flat of his palm before he can stop himself. Nothing about this is okay. Steve looks awful. Bucky looks awful.

Bucky twitches under Steve's hand and opens his eyes again. "Don't _touch_ me," he snarls.

Steve moves his hand away. "Not far now," he says. "You planning to come inside with us, soldier?"

Bucky makes a small noise and inclines his head toward Steve's hand again. Kid clearly doesn't know what he wants. "No," he says firmly, clenching his fists.

Tony wishes he could get a look at that metal arm. That thing looks dangerous.

"What'll happen if you scrap your mission and return to base like this?" Steve asks.

Bucky hesitates. "They'll fix my head up and put me back in the field," he says slowly. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Shit," Tony whispers.

"They sound like real bastards," Steve says. He's watching the streets outside the windows. He didn't go far. They're only a couple short blocks away.

"Sure," Bucky says under his breath.

"So, I'm thinking we should lock him up until we get this figured out," Tony says briskly. "Because either someone will come looking for him or he'll try to go back to them."

"Tony," Steve says warningly, very still, eyes on Bucky.

Bucky's jaw tightens. "Oh, I get it," he says, much too evenly. "All you guys are the same."

Steve glares at Tony, and says, "We just want to talk to you, soldier, but we can't do that with you trying to shoot me down _or_ passing out on the sidewalk."

"Don't want to talk." Bucky turns to bury his face against Steve’s stomach, sounding young and petulant.

"Sorry," Tony says. "I just wanted to make sure...sorry."

"You don't have to talk tonight," Steve says. "Tonight you're gonna get some rest. Tomorrow we can talk, and I do mean talk. No euphemisms, got it?"

Bucky makes another sound. "Oh--I missed you. I think I missed you."

 _So, it's starting._ Tony thinks. Here's this kid who, even crazy and lying in Steve's lap, says the right things. Here's this kid who is a _kid_ and has a heart that works and--and everything Tony doesn't.

Steve clears his throat. "Me too, partner," he says. He needs to communicate something to Tony, he needs something _from_ Tony, but he's afraid to look up right now because he'll cry, and he can't do that to Tony and he can't do it in front of Bucky, and he sure as hell can't to do it to himself. So he keeps looking down, and puts his hand back in Bucky's hair.

Bucky doesn't tense or twitch away from Steve this time. So, there's that. That is happening.

"We're here," Tony says. "Sorry. I know you just, uh, got him settled." He hopes that's enough of an apology for now.

"Hey," Steve says to Bucky, "we're at our base. We're going inside, all right, soldier? I'm gonna carry you again. You just hold steady."

Bucky nods, eyes still screwed shut. He's disturbingly good at following orders, and Tony wonders if that's new, or if he's always been like that. He looks so different from what Tony imagined.

Steve awkwardly edges out of the car and pulls Bucky into his arms. "You can look at where we are, if you want to," he says.

Bucky opens his eyes and whistles. " _Jesus._ Look at this place. Not exactly a secret base." Then he thinks, _no, wait,_ because he’s already seen this. Hasn’t he?

Tony bristles. "Yeah, you're welcome."

Steve laughs. "We're not military," he says, "but we are above-board. Hold on, now."

"Not military," Bucky says under his breath, more like he's taking notes than passing judgement.

"Need a hand?" Tony asks, trailing uselessly behind. "Where do you want to put him?"

"You've gotta have a secure spare room somewhere in this place," Steve says. "Bed with blankets, empty kitchen, door with locks. I'll stay with him."

Tony is about to say something about how _no, you're fucking not,_ but Steve's face stops him. "Of course," he says instead, almost mechanically. "This way."

"Sounds like Stark to me," Bucky says, looking around the place.

"Wrong Stark," Steve tells him. "This one is newer. Nicer. and his mustache is real."

Bucky laughs at this, and it _hurts._ Tony can't even sort out why. He just knows that this evening has been one long sinking feeling.

"In here," he says, tapping the code to open the door.

"Thanks," Steve says, and he tries really hard to make sure Tony knows he means it, but he's not sure if that helps or hurts. He carries Bucky inside.

"Could you grab the lights?" he asks Tony. To Bucky he says, "Okay, this is your safe house. No one's taking you out of here, and no one's going to hurt you here."

Bucky laughs like he doesn't _believe_ it, and for the first time, Tony feels genuinely awful for him. He turns on the lights, but at their lowest setting. "If this room isn't okay, we have others," he says, still keeping a careful distance.

Steve says, "Kitchen left, living room right, bathroom ahead and left and bedroom ahead and right. Have any pressing needs for one or another?"

Bucky swallows. "Shit," he whispers, "you're thorough. Right now I could just use some sleep. And to get rid of this headache."

"Roger that," Steve says. He carries Bucky into the bedroom and sets him down. He keeps his hands on Bucky's shoulders to make sure he's stable.

"Now," he says, "if I help you with your boots, will you kick me in the head and try to escape?"

Bucky, to his credit, doesn't laugh. He stops and seems to actually think about it. Then he says, "No. I don't _think_ so."

"Well, try to restrain yourself," Steve says dryly. He kneels down cautiously and starts untying Bucky's boots. "We can get you painkillers," he says. "We could also get you a sedative if you want to sleep better, but if you don't want it, you won't have one."

Bucky twitches, and for a second Tony thinks he _is_ going to kick Steve, but he doesn't.

"No sedative, thanks," he says. "Maybe no painkiller, either. No pills. I'll sleep it off."

Tony somehow doubts it'll be that easy.

Steve works his first boot free and sets it on the floor. "Okay," he says. "That's fine, and you're allowed to change your mind." He works on the second boot. Neither Bucky nor Tony can see his face now, either, and he's grateful for that.

He'd been hoping Bucky would let them knock him out, and he feels awful for the sick tired feeling that washed over him when Bucky said no.

"If I go under," Bucky says, watching the wall and not Steve, "I won't wake up this clearheaded. Trust me. That's how it goes."

Tony wonders how long Bucky's been a prisoner.

"Gotcha," Steve says. "Thanks for telling me. That's a help." He pulls off Bucky's left shoe, sets it down, stands up. "Anything else you don't want to go to sleep in?"

Steve would choose any of the above, personally. If he were of sound mind. Bucky looks down at himself. 

"Not exactly PJs," he says ruefully. "But hey, I can take it off."

Tony is very glad to hear that.

Steve nods, and starts very carefully helping to him undress. Bucky is--oh, he's _wrong_ is what he is, he's too obedient and disoriented, never mind the memory loss, and whoever did this to him is using him as an assassin and keeping him _frozen_ the rest of the time.

Steve thought it was bad enough to wake up and find his whole world gone. No one had stolen his memories of it or turned him into their murderous plaything while he slept. He wonders if Tony is serious about the rule that Avengers don't kill.

Tony looks away, but not before he sees the place where Bucky's metal arm meets his shoulder. _God._

"Thanks," Bucky mutters. "Usually give you more of a run for your money, huh?"

"I don't know about that," Steve says. "You're giving me a helluva one tonight."

Bucky laughs and the laugh turns into a sob. "Well, shit," he says. "Look at me. Sorry. I just...I feel like I've got two people in my head, and both of 'em are hitting my skull with hammers."

 _Nobody talks like that,_ Tony thinks.

"Shit," Steve repeats. "It's me, Buck. Okay? It's _me._ There's nothing to apologize for, okay? I'm gonna look out for you. We'll figure out what those bastards did to you, and we'll fix it. Okay?" He's repeating himself, and he knows he needs to stop, because if he doesn't, he'll have that breakdown he can't have in front of either of these people.

"Tony," he says, "do we have any--do we have any spare pajamas or anything somewhere in this building? Or maybe a...higher Jarvis setting?"

"Let me deal with it," Tony says quickly. He can see that Steve needs to _stop,_ needs to be away from Bucky, at least for a second. "I'll turn up the heat and get the kid some pajamas and god, just take it easy."

"Fine," Steve says. "Thanks." He doesn't move from Bucky's side.

Tony runs his hand though his hair in frustration and cranks up the heat. "There. I'll have Pepper put some pajamas in the slot.” He indicates the small hatch in the door that only opens from the outside. "Safety precaution."

Bucky nods and gives him a little smile that might ( _might_ ) be respect. "Sure thing."

"Is it okay if I leave you with Tony?" Steve asks. "I, er, actually sort of need to use your new toilet."

"Sure, if he promises not to smirk at me," Bucky says amicably enough.

"No chance of that," Tony mutters.

"Great," Steve says. "Don't kill each other." He staggers to his feet and into the bathroom, only just managing to avoid slamming the door. He doesn't turn the light on. He sits on the floor, instead, in the corner with his knees up.

"Okay, Steve," he says. He counts off every horrible thought and feeling that's threatening to overwhelm him. There's a lot. When he's got them all he shoves his fist in his mouth and works on putting every one of them away farther back in his head, not relevant until he can deal with them. In the meantime, he doesn't scream, and that's pretty big of him.

It only takes a few minutes. And he does use the toilet. Just to keep Tony and Bucky from getting suspicious.

Tony takes the opportunity to text Pepper about the pajamas, especially since the other option is looking at Bucky. Bucky is still all the things Tony isn't, but he's also brainwashed and in pain and--Well, maybe eventually he'll be okay enough that Steve will be happy. So he's got _potential._ Yeah. He realizes he's not looking at his phone anymore.

"Quit looking at me like a creep," Bucky says, and Tony tosses all the charitable thoughts out the window.

"Uh huh," he says distantly, sending off the text. Steve will be back soon. Hopefully.

Steve emerges from the bathroom. "Well done," he tells them. "I'm glad to see you both still alive. Bucky, is there anything else--are you hungry? Thirsty? Sorry," he adds. "I'm doing my best but you've gotta admit, Buck, this is a fucked-up situation." He doesn't think he's used that word in front of Tony...ever.

Every single thing Tony is feeling is unfair. He isn't _allowed_ to be feeling anything about this. It's not his to feel anything about. But all he can think about is that Steve is so much more natural and comfortable with Bucky than he's ever been with Tony.

Bucky laughs. "I don't think I even know half of how fucked up it is. What year is it, Steve? Where've we _been?_ Is the war still going on? Does it matter, since I won't remember tomorrow?"

Steve's expression hardens. "If you don't remember, tomorrow, we're gonna figure out how to bring you back. We're _going_ to make it stick, Buck. I'm not getting you back to lose you like that, every damn day." He ducks his head. "As for the rest, it's--it's 2011. The war's long over. There are other wars. I, uh. I got frozen in a block of ice for most of a century."

"That--" Bucky chuckles. "That sounds like a lie, so it's probably not. I don't even--2011? Is that for real? God, I--I need some sleep to clear my head."

Tony feels like he shouldn't even be here.

"It's real," Steve says. He bites his lip. He wants to say, _I have to tell you now that the smirker with the mustache is my boyfriend._ But he can't. He can't! Can he? Bucky might not even, as he says, remember this in the morning. He can't yet.

"As soon as you have something to put on," he says instead. "Then you can get as much sleep as you need. I doubt you've had much real sleep in the last seventy years. I don't know about stasis, but icebergs aren't all that restful."

Bucky shakes his head slowly. "Yeah, don't think I've slept in...well, as long as I can remember."

It occurs to Tony that Steve is holding together remarkably well in the face of all this. "Pepper should be sending pajamas along," he says quickly.

Steve looks at him gratefully. "Good," he says. "Thank you." He shifts. "Listen, Buck, I think you can be honest with me right now, and I have to know. Can I leave you in this room alone and know that nobody will get hurt?"

Bucky swallows. "Uh. No. I hate to let you down, but no. Unless the doors lock really well."

"They do," Tony says. "And I can put JARVIS on alert."

Steve rubs his eyes. "And I'd have to be awake every minute if I stayed in here, right?"

Bucky looks torn. Tony, however, has very strong feelings on this.

"I want you to stay," Bucky says finally. "But honestly, partner, you look like hell. Get some sleep, okay? I'll still be here tomorrow. This place looks pretty good at keeping people in."

"Buck," Steve says, equally torn, "if you're wrong, I'll never forgive myself. And what if my being here makes you more--stable? More yourself? What if you forget because I left?"

Bucky frowns and moves back into Steve's space. "Hey," he says. He puts his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Hey, _listen_ to me. I've got it, okay? You worry too much." He smiles. "Trust me, there's no way I'll be able to think this place is Russia, anyway. Don't worry. I'm hanging on."

Tony feels sick. This is worse than the alternative, or it will be.

Steve is quiet for a long time.

"All right," he says finally. "I'll help you to bed, and we'll get out of your hair. There's a, um--Tony, can you set up Jarvis so he can reach me if he needs to? And, uh...none of the other systems?"

Tony hesitates. He wants JARVIS to go to _him_ with problems, but--"Sure. Yeah. I'll make sure to put him on alert for you. Good?"

"Good," Bucky answers unexpectedly. He sits down on the bed. "Oof. Thanks for this."

"Yeah," says Steve. He peers back at Tony. "Are you sure Pepper--?"

"Texted her," Tony says, waving his phone. "And even if she doesn't come through, which she will, it's warm enough in here. There are blankets.

"You're like a _mom,"_ Bucky complains from the bed. "Stop fussing over me, huh? I'm fine. Head's still splitting, but fine."

Steve turns around to look at him, and finds himself just caught there, silent and useless and distraught.

"It's not okay now," Bucky says, not quite looking at Steve. "I know that. But, uh, it will be. Jesus, Steve, I still don't know the right words for you, but I promise, okay?"

"Right," Steve says. "I'll go. Just be here, okay? Please be here tomorrow."

"I'll do everything I can," Bucky says a little sadly, and Tony nods.

"So will I," he says.

"Okay," Steve says. He shuffles a step away, and then turns around because for a second he wants to give Bucky the fiercest hug and not let go, and then winds up a step or two back, his arms held at an awkward distance from his body.

"Tomorrow," Bucky says. "Tomorrow, we work on this. Okay? You don't need to worry about doing anything right tonight."

Tony hates that he's already feeling grateful to Bucky for being good at dealing with Steve.

"Okay," Steve says. "I'm really glad to see you, Buck."

"I know I didn't exactly give you the best greeting, but me too," Bucky says. He flashes Steve a grin that looks like the one from all the ancient newsreels before it collapses into a wince of pain.

"Go the hell to bed," Steve orders, and backs up enough to clap a hand on Tony's shoulder. "C'mon, Tony, let's leave Bucky to Jarvis. The, uh," he starts. "Uh, the computer. They've changed since...then. Just talk to him like a person."

Bucky nods uncertainly. "I'll work it out. I'm wiped, anyway." He rubs his face. "You get some sleep, too, okay? Get out of here."

"Right," Steve says. "Night." He shakes his head, and says, "Hell with it. Please don't try to kill me," and speeds back over to give Bucky exactly the fiercest hug.

Bucky freezes for a second, during which Tony wonders if he'll have to do something dangerous, but--

Bucky relaxes and nuzzles Steve's chin. "Easy, partner. You'll bust my ribs." He huffs a breath against Steve's cheek. "Oh, _Steve."_

"Tomorrow," Steve says. "It'll be ugly and we won't get it right if we do this tonight. But tomorrow, I promise." He pulls back. "Night, Buck."

Bucky nods and smiles faintly. "Night."

Tony is practically out the door already, and when he gets what he considers the go-ahead, he nearly flees into the hallway.

Steve follows Tony out the door. When it shuts and locks itself, he gropes for Tony's hand. He's not sure if he's going to find it.

Tony isn't sure if he wants to run or hold Steve. He settles for taking Steve's searching hand between his. "Bad night," he whispers.

"Can we go home?" Steve asks. He can't do this here, he can't.

"Yes," Tony says quickly, squeezing Steve's hand hard. "Yes, of course, yeah. Right now, I promise." He only knows how to take this in small steps.

Steve breathes out a painful noise and lets Tony lead him to whichever of their apartments he thinks _home_ means.

Tony walks quickly and firmly to Steve's rooms. This will be better, he thinks. Steve will feel more comfortable here, if anything can make him comfortable right now. Once they're inside, he turns the lights on to their lowest setting and looks Steve in the eye.

"Hey," he says.

That breaks everything, or very nearly. Steve's breath hitches. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'll tell him tomorrow, I'll tell him about you tomorrow, I just couldn't fit it in, you know, and he was so scared when I was talking to him at first, and I don't know where he's been, but god, Tony, I don't want him to go back there. I'm sorry."

"Whoa, whoa," Tony says, pulling Steve into a tight hug. " _Easy._ I'm not _mad,_ Steve. And I'm not--I'm not upset about _that._ It wasn't the right time. I trust you, okay? I'm just freaked out. For you."

Steve clings to him like he's drowning. "This is the worst way to get everything I wanted," he whispers.

"Jesus, I know," Tony says. "I'm sorry. This is--it's fucking horrible. But I've got you. And listen, I'm a genius. We'll fix him up. We'll make this okay." He kisses Steve's cheek with conviction.

"I'd really like it if you'd take me to bed now," Steve says. "I don't care about pajamas."

Tony laughs, too exhausted to do anything else, and tugs Steve toward the bed. "Sleep. I'll be here all night if you need anything. I won't let go."

"Don't," Steve agrees, and pulls him down with him, and pretends that they won't wake up until tomorrow, when everything will be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END PART TWO.


End file.
